


Red vs Blue: Finish It

by Astartes_AvengerFromTheFarFuture



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms, Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Upgrade for Everyone, F/M, Graphic Description, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season 08 AU, Tags May Change, Technobabble, Tex lives AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23408353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astartes_AvengerFromTheFarFuture/pseuds/Astartes_AvengerFromTheFarFuture
Summary: When the Meta was dragged into the ocean and Project Freelancer fell, the Director had been successfully captured and sentenced to prison for life. Four years later, the Insurrection staged a daring rescue and freed him. With their help, he plans on giving them a means to win their war for independence once and for all. Fearing this, the UNSC has decided to reassemble the Reds and Blues and finish what they started...
Relationships: Blue Team & Red Team (Red vs. Blue), Leonard L. Church/Agent Texas | Allison
Comments: 16
Kudos: 29





	1. Breakout

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Keystone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009961) by [texelations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/texelations/pseuds/texelations). 



Location: UNSC _High Anchor_ , Theron Asteroid Belt Prison

Daily Time: 1200 Hours

Date: June 5, 2557

It's dark outside. It has always been dark outside. From the first day in prison to the distant next it has been dark. It never got any brighter or any duller. Ever. However, being on a floating space station in the middle of nowhere didn't help either. Four years, maximum security, limited means of communication both ways (not that it mattered anyway), he was in the perfect middle of nowhere.

A stern, firm-looking man stared out of his cell into the blackness of space, watching the chunks of floating rock pass by, seeing the stars glow, the tiny specs of light in the endless void. He had closely-cropped black hair, a thin but well-built body, and wore the standard orange prison uniform.

Director Leonard Church was a man of many things: a genius, a motivator, a Big Brother. At least he considered himself so. He had the traits of such as well, being bother determined and persevering. One thing he could not consider himself, however, was a man of patience or tolerance. He had no room for those who disrespected him and he had far too much of a temper to level with said traits. Both such faults were then, if he was being honest, multiplied by the sheer function of a solitary confinement floating prison in which he was stationed, permanently too by the UNSC's estimates.

An alarm sounded and he turned around to the cell door. He stood firm as he was presented to the guards before him. His face was worn, slightly cringed, and he was forming a small beard around his chin, not to mention the grey hairs that were sprouting out across his head. He also wore a pair of glasses over his emerald-green eyes. "What is it now, Gunney?" he asked, his voice reverberating a distinct and heavy Southern accent.

The guard outside the cell showed his face, impassively staring into the dull, grey room. "You know what time it is, Church. Routine checkup." The Director winced at the use of his last name. It had been a long time since anyone had referred to him that way and, even then, only _she_ had done it.

An alarm chimed once and, with a click, the door unlocked itself and swung open.

Of course. How could he forget that it was that time of the month. Ever since his initial reinstatement in military prison SRS-152, he'd been getting monthly checkups on his mental state. All those things he did to the Freelancers, to the AI, even his own family, that was rather unhealthy. In fact, according to some, it was borderline psychotic. The UNSC had every right to be concerned about his mental state.

The Director stepped out into the cell block, looking down the lane at the other rooms.

"Let's go." The guard shoved him forwards rather forcefully, even though he was already on his way.

They moved down the line, passing door after door after door, until they eventually came up to huge gate at the end of the hallway. The guard brought up a small chrome card, a security pass, and slid it through a scanner. The scanner beeped once and the door slid open, reveling more identical-looking hallways. They eventually came into a large security room filled with dozens of guards, no doubt used as their private lounge. They were all passing by, acting with a casual posture, off-duty, if he had to guess.

Eventually the Director entered a small private room with nothing but a small table and two chairs on either side. One side of the room was actually tinted glass instead of steel plate, however, a standard setup for a standard interrogation room. The Director walked over to the chair facing the glass wall and sat down. Evidently, a bald man, clean shaven and in grey uniform, entered and sat down on the other chair.

Then they began their daily review. "Director Leonard Church," the young man said, speaking plainly but with a hint of emphasis in each syllable, "I see you've been doing well, as usual. How have you been?"

"I've been fine, Doctor," he replied, choosing not to comment further.

"That's good. Now then, how are you feeling?"

The Director paused half a second, then smiled. "I'm feeling great, Doc, no problems in the slightest."

The warden stopped, puzzled by the answer. "Oh and why is that, Leonard?"

"It's because today I'm leaving."

The warden stared at him, a slightly puzzled look on his face. He shook his head. "No Leonard," the man corrected, "I'm afraid not. You won't be leaving for a very long time, if ev-"

"No sir," the Director interrupted. "I believe I will be going today. And this time I won't be stopped."

Suddenly, a loud explosion shook the station and alarms sounded. The explosion rocked the floor beneath them as it went off. The warden bolted up from his chair, going for his radio. "O'Brien to control. Status report." He was met with radio static. "What is going on? Repeat, what the hell is going on? Does anyone copy, over?" Static was all that continued to answer from the radio.

"Shit. Director, you stay right there. Security! Secur…" He stopped as he heard muffled shouts coming from outside the door. Suddenly, the sound of gunfire flared up from outside.

The psychiatrist moved to the door, trying to get a better look, trying to find out what the hell was going on. As he was about to touch the door, the door blew open, sending the man flying right back. He hit the other side of the room, cracking the steel-plate wall and sending blood flying across it. He fell onto the ground, his body a shattered, bloodied ruin. The Director could see that at least two limbs were bent the wrong way and there was a nasty dent in the side of his head. His sternum had probably cracked too.

The Director stood up and looked at the hole where the door used to be. "Took you long enough," he called out.

A man walked through the hole, the smoke from the explosion haloing his body. The man was wear red ODST armor, his face covered behind his black visor. He carried a standard MA5D assault rifle in his right hand, gripping it tightly. "Sorry about that, Director. Had to clear a few roadblocks."

"Clearly," he drawled, sparing a glance at the havoc created outside.

The ODST nodded. "Come on, evac's waiting for our arrival and I don't want to be here when the cavalry shows up." He motioned him toward the exit at the far end of the hallway.

Church stepped outside and saw a wrecked hellhole. There were bullet holes all over the place and the dead bodies of prison guards scattered about, a sizable protection detail judging from amount. He saw chipped walls and fragmented doors, all collateral damage from the initial breach. He also saw a path the Insurrectionists cut just to get to him. Five other haphazardly-dressed soldiers were moving around, their weapons trained on the door at the end of the hallway. They wore black clothing and a grey set of armor. Each of them was also carrying an assault rifle just like the ODST.

The ODST called to the men around him. "We won't have long before reinforcements arrive. Let's not waste any more time and get to extraction."

The squad moved up, flanking the ODST and Director. They jogged down the corridor back the way the squad came. They passed several halls, a few armories, and an innumerable amount of cell doors.

They kept moving, stopping for nothing, continuing on for a few minutes before they reached the hangar bay.

The entire floor was as ruined as the rest of the station. There were blown-out craters along the floor, pieces of rubble across the deck, and several parked grey UNSC Pelicans were all lined up, all of them completely engulfed in flames. People were shouting, some of them screaming, as they desperately tried to put out the fire that was consuming the hangar bay.

They saw one Pelican that wasn't on fire, however, hovering in the middle of the bay room, its nose gun blasting out at the disorganized security forces not already in cover.

"That's our ride. Let's go," the ODST shouted over the chaos that was ensuing around them. The squad hustled over to the carrier, trying to avoid as much contact with the distressed guards as possible.

They were almost there, only a few feet away from the dropship, when a warning shout echoed from behind them. The Director briefly glanced around.

Behind the group, a large group of soldiers were approaching, wearing the uniforms of station security, full on combat gear in place. They were holding a variety of weapons, mostly shotguns and pistols, but a few of them were holding DMRs. It was those men that were of concern.

For the most part, the defender's shots were going wild, but a few of them managed to hit their targets. The transport took a few shots; most of the hits bounced off the hull plate.

The Director saw one of the rebel soldiers take several shots to the chest and fall over onto the mangled floor. He was dead before he had even hit the ground.

"Nothing we can do for him now," the ODST said. He turned back to the Pelican. "Pilot, open up the rear hatch. We have our target."

Upon his request the airship swerved its rear door around and opened, revealing a vacant room with 10 seats, five on each side. It lowered itself down onto the deck just enough for everyone to step on.

The Insurrectionists moved in and strapped themselves in, the doors closing behind them with a pressurized hiss. The Director and ODST Insurrection sat on the left side while the remaining four sat on the right. He felt the transport lift into the air without a hitch and removed itself from the hangar. There was still gunfire in the background as they flew, but nothing could be done without heavier equipment.

A silence filled the transport as it sped away from the asteroid prison. The Director noticed as they flew that the turrets were inoperable, as anticipated. No fightercraft moved to intercept them either, meaning the station's comms were down too.

After a few minutes of flying past innumerable floating rocks the ODST decided to break the silence. "We have the supplies you requested, Director."

He nodded. "Any trouble acquiring them?"

"Nothing we couldn't handle."

"Good," he smiled. "I plan on getting started right away."

* * *

Location: Unknown

Daily Time: 1600 Hours

Date: June 5, 2557

Somewhere deep within the confines of UNSC Command and Control, a serious discussion was taking place. Two men were arguing, raising their voices and trying to yell louder than their opponent.

"…but we have to do something about the Director, General."

"I don't know what you want me to do, Hargrove. We have no leads or whereabouts. And I'm not lending you any troops for this. The threat he possess is but a minor one if any at all."

"General, there is nothing minor about him. Have you forgotten that he led the only other super soldier program that was able to even come close to Doctor Halsey's work? If we…"

"Gentlemen," a calm voice interrupted.

The men turned towards the voice, obviously infuriated by the other's stubbornness. The man who spoke was of strange endeavor. He was a tall, black man, wearing a grey officer's uniform. He had a calm expression on his face.

"What is it, Counselor Price?" the General hissed, obviously annoyed by the discretion of the previous conversation.

"Please calm down, gentlemen. I may have your solution for you."

The men relaxed, obviously interested in what the Counselor had to say. They had removed him from prison specifically for his input on the former Director of Project Freelancer. He was not only the lead psychiatrist for him but the entire project as well, which was useful considering it was entirely possible others from the Project wanted to join him.

"I have a proposition for you, gentlemen. I can give you the things suited for the both of you. It will reduce all losses to you, require very little resources, and, more importantly, it will eliminate the threat the Director poses."

"What threat, Counselor?" the General asked. "The Director is nothing. He has no help, no ties, no resources. He is nonessential."

"On the contrary, General, the Director is anything but a 'nonessential'. Not only is he the one who built Project Freelancer, which spawned a number of problems for the UNSC, many of which still haven't been tallied, but he still has the capability to make the world's most feared supersoldiers if given proper equipment. He is also working with the UNSC's top opposition, the Insurrectionists, who have risen in greater number than you had predicted after the war."

"It's true," the Chairman concurred. "You see, a few months ago several UNSC supply frigates were captured by said forces. These frigates, however, didn't hold just weapons and armor, although there still was a lot of it. They also held biological samples, materials, and devices, many of which are deemed experimental or classified."

"So," the General said, anger only barely contained, "your saying that not only does the Director have resources and allies, but enough materials to make a whole new generation of supersoldiers? Ones loyal to the Insurrection?"

"That is correct, General," the Counselor nodded. "So, you see, this is no minor threat we are dealing with, but a substantially large problem."

"So," the Chairman motioned, "what do you suggest we do, Counselor?"

The Counselor turned to the duo. "My proposal is this: we need soldiers with experience with Project Freelancer, soldiers who have had experience with the Director, soldier's who helped bring him down. Agent Washington?"

The men turned to find another man step out of the shadows. But this man was different. He was standing in a vigilant posture and wore grey and gold colored MJOLNIR Mark VI power armor. He had a well-built frame and looked as if he was a statue coming to life.

"Yes, sir?" he replied in a young, determined voice.

"You have had experience with the troopers I am referring to, correct?"

"Correct, sir."

"If I told you we needed them right now, would that be a correct assumption?"

"Possibly, sir. However…"

The Counselor raised an eyebrow at his gleaming gold visor. "Yes, Agent Washington?"

"The simulation troops you are referring to…"

"Wait, wait, wait," the General interrupted, raising a hand, " _simulation troopers_?"

"Yes, General, simulation troopers, although 'former simulation troopers' would be a much better way to describe them at this time." He nodded to the Agent. "Continue, David."

Wash nodded, not missing a beat. "The simulation troopers you are referring were disbanded four years ago along with the remnants of Project Freelancer, including all recovered assets. The soldiers are now scattered and separated all across the war front. It will be difficult to get them all back together again since all have different superiors."

"That's where you come in, Agent Washington," the Counselor said. "I am putting you in charge of the operation."

The Freelancer looked almost shocked. "But sir, I'm not a leader. I hate to say this, but I have next to no experience and I've never run an op this big."

"No," the man shook his head, "you are not. But I do see something in you, David, something the other Freelancers never truly had: adaptability. Your ability to overcome any obstacle no matter your previous experience with it. I've seen you as a hunter, a marksman, a lock-picker, a spy, a mechanic, and a supporter. But, in what may be our most desperate time, even more so than the war, we need someone to hold everything together, someone like you." The Counselor sighed. "I'm not asking you to be a commander or even a leader. I'm asking you to help keep everything together. I'm asking you to be our conduit so that we can better help _you_ and better end this conflict before it gets too far out of hand for all of us. So," he looked into Washington's eyes," are you up for the job?"

If he had been asked five minutes ago, he still would've blatantly refused. Now, however, hearing the full confidence in Price's tone, hearing the praise he needed, he felt like he really could do this. The Freelancer grinned under his helmet, a flash of confidence in his eyes. "Yes sir."

"Good. It is time to put an end to the Director once and for all, Agent Washington. It is time to reassemble."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU set after Season 8, but Church and Tex never go into the memory storage unit. I've had this idea floating around since 2012. In fact, I originally wrote it on Fanfiction.net. This is a kinda-port/second edit of my original work, which you can find under the same name on the aforementioned site. I still post on there primarily, but I'm planning on posting it here as well.
> 
> Do keep in mind that, once this thing gets rolling, there will be some heavy canon divergence as well as divergences in character personalities in some areas. My reasoning behind this is that four years have passed since our favorite characters have been together, so some things are going to give.


	2. Reassemble - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reds and Blues are called into action. The planet Helios III has suffered from the brunt of an Insurrectionist invasion, with the UNSC mounting a full-swing counteroffensive. A forward reconnaissance element has been sent to gather intelligence on enemy movements and is now under fire. Little do they know what kind of reinforcements they are about to receive...

Location: New Gorgon City, Helios III, Helios System

Daily Time: 1530 Hours

Date: June 9, 2557

"Take cover, take cover!" shouted one of the marines. The squad ducked for cover as a machinegun began to fire. It made a chugging noise as it spun its barrels around towards the panicked men.

The men crouched behind a cement block just as it began to fire. It continued its burst, shooting at the grey rock in a continuous bang-bang-bang-bang-bang, keeping the squad pinned and immobilized.

"We're going to die, aren't we, sarge?" asked one of the marines, sheer panic in his tone. The squad leader, a bald man in his late forties, turned to the rest of the squad, gauging his team's mental condition.

The situation was deteriorating fast. The squad of marines had been sent to stop the Insurrectionist assault on the city along with the forward advance team. They had assumed this would be a simple sweep, no different than the other riots they had dealt with in their time as military police. But they had been sent on a fool's errand and had vastly underestimated their foes. The opposition before them was well disciplined, well trained, and well-armed, even bringing military-grade equipment to the fore. Not only that, but they had taken well-emplaced defensive positions all around the city. They were pinned at one of them.

The sergeant looked around at the rest of the city. It was all a mess. The roads were choked with debris, the districts ruined and broken, and some of the buildings were on fire. Many of the city's inhabitants had managed to clear out of the expanding warzone. However, there were a number that hadn't. He could see bodies clearly not designated to either side scattered across: men, women, even children. It was sickening to know that, even though the Covenant had been beaten what felt like yesterday, there was still fighting consuming mankind, with conflict dragging everyone into the mix.

"We're probably going to die, men. I won't deny the inevitable. Johannes?"

A young marine looked up at the sergeant, his eyes worried and fearful. "Yes, sir?"

"Radio Command. Tell them we need backup on our position. Now!"

"That won't be necessary," a voice crackled from behind them. They turned to the source of the voice and their jaws went slack. Standing on top of a pile of debris off to the side of the street was a man in MJOLNIR Mark VI power armor, painted cobalt blue. The man was holding a military-grade Sniper Rifle in his hands, his right gauntlet firmly on the trigger. He had a pair of frag grenades strapped to his side, combat knife, magnum, and a standard BR-85 magnetized to his back.

He looked out at the shooters from his position. There were ten Insurrectionists pinged on his visor, all armed with various rifles, mostly assault and battle rifles. One of them was manning the machinegun turret that was pinning the squad of marines down. The rest stood by, their weapons also trained on the cement wall the marines had decided to take cover behind. A handful of them added their weapons to the hail of bullets already descending on the men.

 _Easy enough_ , he though as he smiled beneath his visor.

He looked down at the squad, who sat there gawking at him. "We'll take care of this,” he reassured them. “Tex?"

"I see them." The marines looked around for the second voice, but could not pinpoint the source. "You have a plan?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Lay down suppressing fire so I can pick of major threats then rush them. Sounds good?"

"Sounds good. I'm suppressing now."

A figure in black armor, the same set as the cobalt one, shimmered into view right next to them, the effects of active camouflage dissipating. The woman held a battle rifle of her own in hand. Attached to her armor was a pair of SMGs, one magnetized to each thigh, a magnum, a string of frag grenades across her hip, and a large, Freelancer-issue Bowie knife that was sheathed on her right calf.

She aimed her rifle down towards the rebels and fired a series of three-round bursts, sending the Insurrectionists into cover, even forcing the MG to stop briefly. That was all the time the sniper needed.

Wasting no time, Church brought his long rifle up and looked down the sight, zooming in on the enemies before him. Drawing in a breath and then releasing it slowly, time seemed to slow as Church lined up his first shot. He centered his gun, marking four targets, one for each round in the magazine.

Then he fired. Shot one hit the machine gunner square in the head, sending his body flying backwards. Shot two landed, hitting the man right next to the machinegun. Shots three and four found their targets, going through three rebels lined up in a row. Screams of fear were heard as the men saw their comrades die in front of them.

Finishing with the magazine, Church didn't even bother to reload, instead opting to switched weapons, taking the battle rifle off his back and replacing it with his sniper rifle.

He jumped over the wall, guiding his body with his left arm as he propelled himself forward. Tex followed, holding her rifle in a steady grip and still firing at the enemies. They landed on the other side, heels digging into the broken cement.

In a burst of speed they charged across the killing field, running full force at the bewildered defenders. The marines gazed in awe as the pair ran straight at the enemy, moving across 20 meters of open ground. Black and blue. Strong and swift. Courageous and fearless. Pure, unstoppable power. Those words were used to describe them, and even then, they didn't do them justice.

The armored troopers smashed into the defenders, breaking down the wall the rebels were hiding behind, their saving grace thoroughly crushed by the new threat bearing down on them. The Insurrectionists had barely gotten their bearings back before the two new soldiers were among them, practically forcing them to abandon whatever ranged advantage they still had. In a matter of seconds the attackers had brought the fight to them.

Church smashed his rifle into the first enemy, cracking his helmet and skull altogether with the force of the blow. Tex, on the other hand, magnetized her rifle to her back and unsheathed her knife. Gripping it in her right hand, the Freelancer struck at the closest enemy trooper. The weapon moved right through the opponent's chest, punching through the breastplate, into the torso, and emerging out his back, killing him instantly. A spray of blood accompanied his demise. She pulled the knife out of the corpse, sending the body tumbling to the ground. Twisting, Tex brought her CQC weapon around and slashed another rebel, this time across the throat. The knife cut through his larynx effortlessly. Reflexively, the trooper brought his hands to his throat. The effort was wasted as he collapsed from blood loss and shock.

At the same time Church spun on his heels, throwing a left hook that connected with the Insurrectionist that was previously behind him. The rebel fell dead to the floor, his skull bludgeoned by the force of a titanium gauntlet.

He saw the last Insurrectionist beginning to bring his weapon, a shotgun, up to Tex's back. In one fluid motion Church brought his rifle up in a tactical grip and fired a single three-round burst at the last enemy. The shots went right into the man's head, messing his face up and blowing his brains out the back of his skull. The last enemy dropped dead unceremoniously onto the broken ground.

He lowered his weapon and a relative silence fell across the field as Church surveyed the carnage. There was still fighting going on across the city, perhaps across the entire planet, but it had stopped here. All the Innies were dead; sprawled out across the ground in various forms of disunity. The whole place was destroyed, a war-torn battlefield at its finest. Rubble and debris littered every square in of what was presumably a highway they were standing on.

He looked over at Tex. She had just finished the last rebel with her knife, drawing it from the bag of meat that was one of their enemies. Turning to dead man behind her, she glanced down at the rebel Church shot, shotgun still clutched in his hand, then back up at him.

"You got him?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

"Yeah," Church replied.

Tex nodded and lightly tapped the corpse. "Good shot placement, excellent awareness." She looked up at him. No doubt she her training with him had paid off. Otherwise, she’d have done all the work herself. "Thanks for that, Church."

The cobalt soldier grinned under his helmet, an obvious swell of pride taking him for a second. "No problem, Tex. No problem at all."

Out of nowhere, a roar of engines reverberated across the roadway as a pair of Hornets flew above their heads, strafing the rest of the street. Soon other ships flew over, moving over the city. There were Hornets, Pelicans, even a few Longswords were doing their flyby over the city, dropping their payloads somewhere into the stree before clearing the area.

Church furrowed his eyebrows at the aforementioned fightercraft. It said a lot about the enemy concentration if there was clearance to issue bombardment, especially inside a city. If things were really that bad, the enemies would be estimated in at least the hundreds, perhaps thousands. It would take days, maybe weeks, to clear out the city if that was the case. From what Church could tell based on preliminary findings, similar engagements were happening all across Helios III, some large, but many more small scaled. It seemed the rebels had been gathering strength on the planet, just as UNSC CENTCOM had predicted. What no one had predicted was how many enemies the Insurrection had mustered. Now, full-scale war was in effect, drawing upon thousands of UNSC personnel into the conflict, Army, Marines, the whole nine yards, to snuff out those responsible for the chaos being unleashed. And that included Special Forces units such as ODSTs, Spartan-IVs, and Delta Force, him and Tex among them.

Church heard the sound of a rumbling engine and turned toward the sound. It was coming from where the marines were. Instead of marines, however, an armored column of Scorpion tanks rolled across the ground, crushing pavement beneath their mighty treads and pushing rubble and debris out of the way. Behind them, a squadron of Warthog LAVs drove across the road, kicking up dirt as they went. Those were flanked by both mongooses and gungooses, all loaded for fast attack and support.

One of the Warthogs stopped, a transport variant, and the man in the passenger seat stood up, calling out to the pair. "Sir, ma’am," he yelled over the passing armored columns, "Commander Farnsworth wants you back at H.Q. right now."

"Any particular reason why?" Church asked, having to raise his voice to be heard over the sudden commotion.

"Didn't say, sir. They just said they got a call and they need you to come right now. They said it’s urgent."

Church stopped and looked at Tex. She simply shrugged and Church turned back to the Warthog. "All right, we're coming."

The troopers embarked into the transport, each taking adjacent seats on one side of the vehicle. Tex took the seat closer to the driver and Church helped himself into the one further away. The black Freelancer glanced at her partner.

"So, what do you think the Commander has for us this time?"

Church stared back at Tex, a grim look in his eye. "I don't know. But coming from him, I'd say it's not good."

"Is it ever?" she brought on.

The sniper snorted under his helmet. "I guess not."

The warthog drove off, moving away from the urban districts, out towards the command center at the edge of the city.

* * *

Location: Helios III Planetary Defense Command Center, Havana District, Helios III

Daily Time: 1600 Hours

Date: June 9, 2557

The command center was busy, much busier than it normally would be. Ever since the Insurrectionist assault began Command had had its hands full. Communications had been bombarded with distress calls and alert patterns, people were rushing back and forth between tasks, and orders were being sent out sporadically. It was practically a mess.

Church and Tex calmly walked through the sea of people, passing through the chaos almost as if they were ghosts. A handful of soldiers stood and saluted, but most were too busy with their mounting tasks, preferring not to let the work pile up. They continued moving on, away from the rest of the crowd.

The pair passed by desks, data tables, charts, maps, a variety of military work stations and command posts. It took them a while to get through, but they eventually came up to a private room, sectioned off from the rest of the base. Above the door, the words 'Cmdr. Farnsworth' was written in bold letters.

The cobalt trooper opened the door and stepped inside, Tex following closely behind. Inside was a single man surrounded by charts, maps, and screens. He had nothing but combat attire, a camouflage shirt, pants, and boots. A service pistol was attached to his hip. But for the moment he was facing only one screen, the main screen. He was talking to someone, but his body was obscuring the person on said screen.

“Sir, with respect, are you sure you can't find someone else? Frankly speaking, I'm knee deep in a pile of shit right now and I need every man I can get to sort this mess out," the man, Commander Farnsworth, said, unaware or completely ignoring the newly-arrived occupants.

"Yes, Commander. I understand you have your hands full right now, but I need these guys for a special mission, no exception," the voice came through the screen clearly. Church thought he’d heard it before, but he couldn't quite make out who it was. It was on the tip of his tongue, he was sure of it, like an itch he couldn't quite scratch.

Farsworth sighed in defeat and turned to the face them. "Ah, Agent Texas. Agent Church."

The duo snapped to attention, both raising their hands to salute. "Sir," they acknowledged in unison.

"At ease," the Commander nodded, allowing them to stand at parade rest. "Well, I guess I'll take my leave now." Stepping away, Farnsworth moved past the pair and left the room, closing the door behind him.

The soldiers glanced at each other, a suspicious look on both of their faces, then back to the screen. Neither could see their partner's faces, but they could both tell they felt the same thing: tension and caution. They stepped forward, an innumerable number of questions flowing through their heads.

Church and Tex stopped as they recognized the man on the screen. He wore a grey and gold set of armor which completely covered his body.

They definitely recognized the person on the screen. No wonder he sounded so familiar. He was the one that had helped them at first, but eventually ended up working with the Meta, hunting them down all the way to the buried ruins of the Mother of Invention, aptly renamed Avalanche by official UNSC personnel. He was the one that almost killed the both of them, just to get out of jail.

"Agent Washington," Tex replied, her tone remaining as neutral as possible.

"Agent Texas," the man acknowledged. He looked at Church. "Epsilon."

"Still Church, asshole. Always has, always will be," the ex-Blue teammate corrected, not even bothering trying to hide the malice in his voice. "What do you want, _Agent Washington_ , so much that you have to divert us from our job on the frontline?"

Ignoring the venom in his voice, Wash continued. "I have a mission for the both of you. I need you two to-"

Tex interrupted. "I don't know if you've noticed, Wash, but we're in the middle of a warzone right now. We don't have time for any distractions or other missions. And we're still under the command of Delta Force."

"I talked to your CO several hours ago, and he have redirected you under my command." He paused before continuing, choosing his next words carefully. "I’m not going to lie to you two. This is bigger than whatever you're both doing right now."

This time it was Church who interrupted. "Tex is right, Wash. We have our hands full right now. People are dying here. We're _needed_ here. Can't you get someone else?"

"No, Church, I can't."

"And why is that?"

"Because the Director has escaped."

Church abruptly went silent, the Freelancer’s words hitting him like a sledgehammer. _The Director? Escaped?_ Church thought to himself. Was he the whole reason the hell they had recently gone through had started in the first place, as a sign of his return to the fold? Was he the one who had instigated the attacks all across the planet, maybe beyond, causing the deaths of thousands of innocent people? Would he be the one responsible for the deaths of so many more? Was the damage he’d done to those at Project Freelancer not enough?

Tex broke the silence and quietly asked, "How? I thought he was locked up for good, given top-of-the-line security, the whole nine yards."

"He was," Wash responded, "but the Insurrectionists got him. They somehow found his location, broke into the prison he was kept in, and released him. They must have spent years formulating a plan to get him out. Now he is nowhere to be found and war is spreading all over the Colonies." He let the news sink in. "I need you two to help me stop him."

"Us?” Church sputtered. “Stop him? The two of us can't possibly take down the Director, not alone."

"That's why I'm giving you some help."

Church was left speechless again, this time from puzzlement, then looked at Tex for support. But she simply shrugged. He looked back to Wash.

The Freelancer continued. "Remember Blood Gulch? The Reds? The Blues? Those years of hell you went through?"

Church didn’t need to be prompted to remember everything that happened those four years ago. How could he forget? It had been so long, yet it felt like just yesterday that he, or rather the Alpha, had gone through the shit-show that led them all where they were now. Those were the days. He had worked with, and fought against, a bunch of worthless idiots, and somehow they had come up on top time against whatever the universe threw at them time and time again. He remembered them all. Caboose. Tucker. Sarge. Grif. Simmons. Donut. Lopez. All of them. But even though they were all idiots, he had grown really fond of them, closer to friends than anything else he had known in the memories of his creator. He had become so used to them that he had become lost his first day away from them. He was lucky he had been handed over to a bunch of specialists and that Tex had stuck with him, even after all this time.

Church looked into the screen, back at the Freelancer's gold visor that hid his face. "Yeah. I remember all of it." He cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because we're getting them all back together."

Church made a concerned look on his face before asking, "Those idiots? Why are you bringing that band of misfits back together? I mean, Tex and I were lucky to get stuck in with a bunch of special forces and given, you know, exemplary training. But the rest weren't, right?"

Wash shook his hand. "Not even close. After you all were disbanded, it was decided that you were given to actual military units for actual training. Looking over your psyche profiles, given by Counsellor Price of Project Freelancer, the UNSC was able to distribute them among those most capable of training them." He could still see Church was flabbergasted by the choice to bring them back. "Look, you all have had the most experience with the Director and Project Freelancer. You're all I have left, the only people associated with Project Freelancer left. Everyone else has either joined the Director, is part of another cordon of the UNSC, or has dropped off the radar completely. You are the only ones who can put a stop to him. No one else has as much experience with him. No one else was there to bring him in, to take him down."

Tex broke into the conversation again. "Why would we use them? Last we saw of them, they were less useful than a bag of rocks. They can't have gotten better from the training they received, could they?"

Wash let out a bemused chuckle. "You have absolutely no idea what has happened to them in the last four years, have you?"

"No, but I imagine they haven't changed that much, even with adequate military training."

"Actually, quite the opposite.” She cocked her head to the side in curiosity. That seemed to get her attention. “I also chose them because of their current status now. They have excelled farther than I would've ever thought possible."

Church and Tex stared at each other before looking back at the screen. "What was that about their current status?" asked Church.

Wash stopped, trying to find the right words. "Well, let's start with your Blue teammates. Tucker. After the breakup of the Reds and Blues, he decided to go with his baby Junior to the alien planet, Sanghelios. There, he continued to train in the art of sword fighting among the aliens. He also been acting as an emissary for the humans and Sangheili. Given the fact that they're still stuck in civil war, it should be inevitable that he has combat experience too. Caboose, well, he's been kind of lost in the last four years. He's been shipped out to varying regiments all around the galaxy. He's been transferred multiple times, picking up on bits and pieces of military training. But, from what I read, he's still learned much, improved some too."

Church remembered Caboose, how much of an idiot he really was. He was surprised Caboose had even lasted that long considering he could barely take care of himself. He usually messed up a lot of plans and even managed to kill him once. Well, the Alpha him, not 'him' him. That he could even improve to begin with was a sign of how effective the training he had received was. He didn't doubt that he was still an idiot, though.

Wash continued. "And the Reds. Sarge had gone back with the ODSTs, even though he refuses to drop anymore. Lopez followed him. Grif and Simmons got stuck together, just like you and Tex. But instead of going off on their own, they got stuck with a mechanized infantry division. They have been harshly trained and somehow survived it. Grif has now become a front-line combat mechanic and Simmons has become an intelligence analyst."

The Blue went back and thought of those three. He remembered Sarge, the headstrong, bloodthirsty leader of the Red team. He remembered Grif, the orange-colored lazy-ass who cared only for himself. And Simmons, the smart, if not necessarily brave, soldier who always followed orders, and was a kiss-ass to boot. There wasn't much to say about Lopez, especially considering that he only spoke Spanish, which no one could understand.

"And Donut. We don't know much about how he got to where he is now. He somehow managed to join the special task group known as Pink Team and has been given training suitable for the team. Trust me, the guys on Pink Team are just like him."

He thought of that guy, how harmless he was, how feminine he was. How the hell he managed to get to Spec Ops in the first place baffled him, that pink guy that actually managed to kill Tex once. But the fact that there were more guys like him, effective guys like him, unsettled him even more. But if Wash was right, and the past several hours had only strengthened his claim, then even he would be of use in the weeks to come.

Church looked back up at the Freelancer, the reality of the situation hitting him like a sledgehammer, the severity of the situation now more apparent than ever. If such men were required for a task such as this, then shit really had hit the fan. It had only been four years since the end of the Human-Covenant war, and both sides were still recovering from the monumental casualties sustained throughout. The Director could bring everything that was still standing to its knees. He knew the Director just as well as he knew himself, and in the end, that was a picture he knew would be the end of many. He couldn't let that happen. "You're certain this is a good idea?"

Wash nodded.

Church sighed, not believing he was about to say. "Alright, we're in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell, I made Church more badass. This is going to be a common trend among the next three or so episodes, and they're going to need the skill increase over the course of the story. Don't worry, they're still the same guys we all know and love at heart, they're just more competent now.


	3. Reassemble - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Church and Tex have been successfully recruited into Agent Washington's fold. The next part of the team is now located in orbit around Arcadia, training and disciplining the latest batch of ODSTs.

Location: UNSC _Highlander_ , Paris-Class Frigate, Planet Arcadia Low Orbit  
Shipboard Time: 1100 Hours  
Date: June 10, 2557

Planet Arcadia. A majesty, a beauty, a jewel of humanity, a luminescent orb of vast oceans, spanning continents, and swirling clouds. Known for being an almost exact representation of pre-human Earth, this planet is used as a major military rally point and a popular tourist location. It is also one of the few planets that was spared the Covenant's glassing beams many years prior. However, due to the rise of Insurrectionist activity in the past few days, the planet has been closed down to military authorization only.

300 miles above the surface of the planet was the 500-meter-long floating hulk of metal known as the _Highlander_. Armed with Javelin missiles, anti-aircraft turrets, and a MAC battery that runs the length of the _Highlander_ , the Paris-class vessel has the potential to wipe out any ship smaller in size than itself, even good against other ships of the same caliber as itself. It was perhaps one of the many ships anchored in orbit to the serene planet below, along with an assortment of battlecruisers, stealth cruisers, scout ships, transports, and other frigates. There was even a carrier or two with them. This was a force to be reckoned with.

The interior of the immense ship was of standard design, built with a hangar, vehicle depot, Command Bridge, engine room, medical facility, and numerous other rooms meant to accommodate its crew and passengers however it could while simultaneously using its space as efficiently as possible. These rooms consisted mostly of workout rooms, track floors, armories, firing ranges, sparing rings, mess halls, and numerous living quarters. There was even a vehicle and hangar bay, albeit a very small one at that. But it was adequate for any moderate operation needed for its usual occupants.

Inside one of the sparing rings a large group of fully armored ODSTs were watching a pair of squadmates were going at each other. Most had full combat gear on, a few of them not bothering with their helmets, all prepared to get called to duty at a moment's notice.

The sparring room they were in was fairly large, well-lit, and relatively open, a balcony located on one side and double doors underneath it. Rows of benches were located on the remaining sides. One of the two squadmates fell to the floor as the other smashed his right hand into the side of his helmet. Hitting the training room floor hard, the man let out a loud groan. He was young, no older than his mid-twenties, with a small, thin body that looked as if it could be snapped like a twig. It was a wonder that he was among the ODSTs in the first place by looks alone.

The other ODST was quite the opposite. He was a larger, much more heavily muscled man that looked almost like a heavy-weight bodybuilder. Looking down on the smaller ODST, he let out a sigh.

"Come on, Pendesky," he said in a rough, almost bullying voice, "you can do better than that." The ODSTs behind him laughed, goading for the one-sided fight to keep going.

The smaller trooper got up, stumbling as he did so. He breathed in and out, trying to refocus. After a few seconds the younger ODST rushed forward, charging at the larger man.

Expecting the maneuver, the ODST stood there and held out his meaty left hand and, almost as if from a cartoon, grabbed Pendesky's helmet and stopped him right in his tracks.

The younger man kept running, pushing as hard as he could at the lumbering giant. He had hoped that his momentum would carry him to victory, but it was useless. He wasn't moving and he wasn't sending his opponent back any farther.

Taking advantage of the moment, the larger man raised his other hand and formed a fist. He took his left hand away from the man's face, only to smash his head with the fist. Pendesky went flying back, his body sent tumbling across the floor. He came to rest several feet away, his body sprawling against the ground.

The large ODST turned away from the fallen trooper and began walking off the training floor, being congratulated by his teammates. Pendesky wheezed, his body aching all over from that singular blow. He wasn't a Spartan, he wasn't a veteran, hell, he didn't even know how he got picked as an ODST to begin with. But he was here and would pull through, just like how he pulled through his marine training and the ODST training after that. He picked himself up and started limping toward one of the benches, his shoulders sagging. The ODST looked down at the floor, disappointed at his performance.

"Hold it right there, Sanders," a thick, Southern-accented voice ordered from over at the exit. The ODSTs fell silent and looked towards the owner of the voice. Pendesky stopped and turned around.

In front of the doors stood a pair of heavily armored figures, one standing just behind the other and over to his right. Both were completely unarmed. The man standing further back was wearing a full set of brown MJOLNIR Mark VI power armor, the ones the legendary Spartans wore. This particular brand was modified for unaugmented soldiers. He stood there attentively, as still as a statue.

But it was the other man that everyone was focused on. The man standing in front wore a set of red Mark VI armor, his arms crossed over his chest plate.

"Sarge," said the ODST known as Sanders, the one that had won the fight. "I'm surprised you're still here. Thought you'd been polishing that shotgun you seem oh so fond of this time of day." The other men snickered at the comment.

"Did I give you permission to speak, Private?" That seemed to shut up the whole crowd, the room becoming dead silent in an instant. Though he hadn’t seen battle in ages, his reputation as a member of the team that took down Project Freelancer was enough to command respect from every soul he came across, these new ODSTs no different.

Sarge looked at the beaten Pendesky, quickly scanning the battered soldier, then back to the other ODST. "This your handiwork, Sanders?" asked Sarge.

"Yes, sir," Sanders replied. "I was just teaching the newbie a lesson, sir."

"Did I ask you for a reason, soldier?" Sarge growled.

Sanders stiffened. "No, sir."

Sarge looked at the whole group before asking, "How many sparring matches have you won today, Sanders?"

"All five of them, sir."

"All five of them, hm?" to which the man simply nodded. The grizzled Red scratched his chin, almost as if in thought.

Lowering his hand, Sarge looked the ODST straight in the eye, his gold visor gleaming from artificial light. "Sanders, I’ll offer you a deal. Choose four of your best men. If you beat me in the ring, I'll consider sending in a word of recommendation to the higher-ups to promote you, _all_ of you." At that, everyone began whispering excitedly, the reward piquing their interest.

"But," and everyone stopped again as Sarge continued, "if you lose, _none_ of you get a promotion. And you, Sanders, have to scrub the bathrooms for a month. No exceptions."

Under his visor, Sanders grinned and stepped into the ring. "You're on. Kirk, Anderson, MacTavish, Carter," he called. Behind him, four equally brutish ODSTs stepped out of the crowd and fell in behind him.

Sarge stepped into the sparing ring, taking a very casual stance before them, while the ODSTs approached him, clenching their hands into fists.

"This will be easy," Sanders smirked. "Kirk, Anderson, you take the left flank. MacTavish, Carter, take right." The ODSTs spread out, moving around the red sim trooper, until they formed a circle around the grizzled sergeant.

Taking up a fighting position, Sanders gave the signal. "Attack." An ODST on either side of the ring charged at Sarge. At how big they were, it looked almost as if they would crush him. Sarge just stood there as the hulking men approached him.

The men reached him and each threw a punch.

In a surprising burst of strength and speed, Sarge brought his arms up and grabbed the ODSTs' muscular wrists. Twisting his body and using their momentum, the red soldier threw the man to his right down onto the ground and across the floor. Simultaneously, he sent the ODST to his left flying over his body. The soldiers flew across the ring and landed with a thump on opposite sides, both on their back, both out of the ring. The singular Red flipped around as he expended his momentum from the twist and returned to a relaxed stance, as if nothing had happened.

Shocked by the sheer speed of his reaction, the other three ODSTs advanced on him, keeping their guard up. They inched closer, never taking their eyes off him. Every step seemed to heighten the tension they felt, but the reward prevented them from being deterred.

The man to the left threw out a right hook and the man to the right kicked out with his left leg a split second later. But a split second was all that Sarge needed. Going to his left, the Red ducked under the punch and kicked the ODST square in the stomach. The bulky man stumbled backwards, holding his stomach. Finishing the move, Sarge turned to the other ODST and grabbed his leg with both hands. The simulation trooper pulled his opponent off his feet and swung him around. Letting go, the ODST was smashed into his comrade. The pair fell to the floor with a hard crash.

Twisting his head, the Red saw Sanders come at him. The man threw out a punch at him. Turning to face his last opponent, Sarge brought up his right arm around the outside of the ODST's arm and swatted his arm out of the way. Stepping, the Red soldier brought his left hand around, which had formed into a fist, and smashed it right into the side of the ODST's helmet. The blow sent Sanders tumbling, eventually landing next to one of his teammates.

The others stood there gawking as Sarge finished off the last one. None of them had seen anything like it before. It seemed so fast, so swift, so extraordinary. Almost like a Spartan. Pendesky sat there, his eyes wide open. The thought of one man beating all five of them seemed so unreal, so impossible. The only time he recalled any feat like that happening was from John-117, when he was only 14 years old. Sarge was older, how much older, he couldn't tell, but he was older than many active ODSTs. That he was capable of doing that was nothing short of extraordinary.

Sarge stood back up and faced Sanders. "Come on, boys, you can do better than that," he mocked, as if nothing had even happened yet. "I've seen women who can fight better than you."

The ODSTs stood back and formed another circle, obviously infuriated by the insult. Sarge smiled under his helmet as they closed in once more. The gargantuan soldiers charged at him all at once, two to his front, three to his back.

In another surprising burst of speed, Sarge cartwheeled backward and hit the ODST behind him in the chest with his feet. The double kick sent the man sprawling across the floor and out of the ring.

Everything went into a blur. No one outside could see what was happening and the ODSTs in the fight barely fared any better. They felt punches, kicks, even a knee or two hit them all over their bodies. One by one, they fell out of the melee, each one grasping a different body part. McTavish held his arm while Carter was holding his shin. Meanwhile, Kirk was holding his head in his hands and Anderson was holding his hands between his legs. And Sander, he was grimacing as he held his chest.

Striking a pose once the melee had finished, Sarge stood back up as he surveyed his handiwork. Each man was groaning in pain, just as he wanted. A fine job indeed. Looking at the rest of the ODSTs, he barked, "Form up, everyone." Jolted by the sudden order, the rest of the soldiers stood to, lining up in a row. "Does anyone here understand what happened here?" The troopers remained silent, waiting for him to continue. "Blind ambition." He stepped over to one of the grounded ODSTs and motioned. "They made the mistake of underestimating an opponent. They didn't fight together, not really. Each of them was falling under their own ambition, not fighting as a unit, as a team. They were focused on the distant future instead of the near future. So, seeing their weakness, I took each of them out one at a time. The fact that they had reacted to the insult didn't help them either, only making them angry, and blind because of it." He walked back to the center of the line. "Never, ever lose focus on the current situation. Ever. You will lose the long term if you can't focus on the short term." He looked each ODST in the eye. "Never ever become blinded to your emotions, as you act irrational and lose your efficiency." He smirked and stood straight. "And never, ever underestimate an opponent, especially me, or, one day, you _will_ lose more than your pride." He stood by and let his words sink in for a few seconds. "Am I clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!" the unit replied, renewed strength and determination in their voices.

The Red scanned his charges before him, a look of determination on his face. Good, the message had gotten through well. They were ODSTs, the best of the best. They needed to work together so that they could become something greater, something that, individually, they could never be. Together, as one, they could do anything. "Dismissed."

The soldiers scattered to pick up their gear and began filing out of the sparring chamber. Sarge watched them leave one at a time, a content look on his face. It had been too long since he had felt this good, inspiring the youth, leading by example. It was what he had set out to do when he first joined the military, what he had wanted to do from the very beginning. He could hardly believe that it had taken him this long to get to that point, to actually be a leader, someone who commanded respect, someone who had subordinates that did as ordered without complaint or needed to be influenced by other means of persuasion. It never got old.

“ _Wow, realmente te escucharon esta vez_ ," spoke the man, or rather machine, behind him. His brown armor stood out like oak as he came in through the doorway. He continued to talk to the Red in pure, poorly iterated Spanish, a byproduct of Sarge's tinkering back in his early Blood Gulch days.

"I know, Lopez. I could've done so much better than that, but I just wasn't feeling it this time. Maybe I'm just getting old…"

The machine audibly sighed at his creator's continued lack of understanding. Ever since he was first booted up, not a single person had been able to understand him properly, at least none of the Reds or Blues. Nowadays there was at least a translator that was standard issue with each UNSC soldier's helmet, making his voice finally heard and understood. Sarge, however, still hasn't followed up on everyone else, or at least hasn't turned it on. It was a manual function, and most marines and ODSTs didn't even bother trying to figure out how it worked. So he wouldn't have expected the Red leader to follow up either. It was still annoying though, to no end.

" _Por cierto_ ," he mentioned, " _Command nos quiere en MTAC. Tener una llamada entrante específicamente para nosotros_."

"Well, I know I could've killed them right then and there if I wanted to," the gruff sim trooper continued, almost as if Lopez had never even spoken, "but that would get me with a lot more paperwork than I'd like, and probably a court martial too. On second thought, maybe just a court martial."

" _¿Estas escuchando? Command nos necesita en Briefing. Deberíamos ponernos en marcha ahora._ "

But the gruff Red continued on as if he had agreed with the conversation instead of ignoring it altogether. "Well, if they did give me a court martial, someone else would have to finish the paperwork instead since I would be locked up in the brig until trial. Honestly, Lopez, I don't know why I still need to explain this to y-". Before he could continue, he heard a door sharply open and turned to see a Petty Officer jog up to him, one of the newer crew members, if Sarge's memory served correct.

Stopping abruptly, the younger man stood straight, hand raised in salute. "Sir, Command has a call on the line back at MTAC. Says it's urgent and required your presence ASAP."

" _¡Eso es lo que acabo de decir!”_ the android exclaimed behind him. Sarge paid no mind to his comment.

"At ease, son," he saluted back, and dropped his arm. "Did they say who it was from?"

"Wouldn't say, sir. Just that it was urgent."

The Red nodded again and began making his way out the door, waving Lopez to follow him. However, midway through his stride, he stopped again. "Did they get in my request this time?"

"Yes sir, and they formally denied it. Again."

"Damn shame," he sighed, and continued out.

* * *

Sarge and Lopez eventually made their way to MTAC, closer to the ship's bridge. By the time they had made it inside, they were greeted with darker, near-empty room, save for some abandoned monitoring stations, several rows of seats, a screen, and it's single occupant, his back faced to them. Clearly, he was focused on what was on the screen itself, no hint of acknowledgement present.

"Sir, I understand that the apprehension of the Director is of utmost importance, but I've got guys here who need a man like him. He's one of the best we've got," the man insisted. Sarge recognized the voice as belonging to Colonel Roth, a veteran of the war and one of the few that oversaw the evacuation of Earth's citizens even as the Covenant made their assault in the waning days of Human-Covenant War. Sometime after the war, he was transferred to command the forces now rallying at Arcadia, where they were now waiting to be directed. The forces now included at least three Paris-class Frigates, over a dozen heavy transports, some 3,000 marines, and at least 50 ODSTs, many fresh out of training. Sarge and Lopez were counted among those numbers, even though Lopez technically qualified as an android.

"This is non-negotiable, Colonel. These orders come straight from HIGHCOM, Priority One." The new voice, coming from the monitor the Colonel was speaking to, seemed strangely familiar, like a memory just out of reach. But Sarge kept to himself, await further instructions before continuing. If he was part of a Priority One order, there was no way in Sam Hell he was going to disobey it, no matter how much he would've wanted to. He was a soldier first and he followed orders to the letter. Project Freelancer had marred and blemished his record, pitting him with a squad of disobedient subordinates, and now he would endure, just as he had endured then.

With a sigh, Roth nodded. "Understood, sir." Looking over his shoulder, his eyes met Sarge's, before he turned back and saluted. He pivoted on his heels and walked out of the room, nodding at the Reds once on his way.

Now that there was no one else in the room but the two Reds, Sarge could get a good view on this man, the one with said Priority One order. Beneath his helmet, the simulation trooper's eyes widened a fraction at just who was on the screen before him. "Agent Washington," he gritted between clenched teeth, voice seething with anger and disdain. Memories of the black-and-gold Freelancer came back in force, some good, but most far from it. His interactions as a Freelancer with the Reds and Blues, his association with the Meta, those were thoughts of disdain worth mentioning.

"Sarge," the Freelancer greeted back, although without any of the same emotion or sincerity behind it. In fact, there seemed to be no emotion in that one word at all. Just cold, hard professionalism, just like the first time they'd met. He envied that, that the young man could project an air such as that with ease, putting even the likes of Sarge to shame by how soldier-like he was.

"So, what's the word? Why’re you here? More importantly, why am I part of a Priority One order? Far as I can tell, I'm perfectly fine here with these Marines and ODSTs." It wasn't much of an exaggeration. For all the time he missed doing what he did at Blood Gulch, and eventually Valhalla, he was content with his work: breaking down, settling in, training, and preparing ODSTs for the next battle, however far away that was. Even if the newly-implemented Spartan-IV Program was starting to phase out the ODSTs, he believed they were still needed. He believed in the strength of the normal man, the unaugmented man, to rise from the ashes of defeat, to hold the line, to show all that was good and glorious about humanity. He was here to mold those men to be the best they could be. At first he had thought he'd lost his touch for training, having spent too long with the likes of Grif and Simmons, but soon he found the reflex, coming back to him like muscle memory. Here, he felt content, even if he missed some of the older days, the action, the adventure, the glory, even the comradery.

"As you're aware," the Freelancer began, "Insurrectionist activity has risen 300 percent in the last week, and HighCom believes we have a full civil war on our hands. Even with the full backing of the UNSC, this will be a long, drawn out fight. What makes matters worse is that the Director of Project Freelancer has been broken out of prison. We believe he is in the process of creating new weapons and soldiers for the Insurrectionists, and will further prolong the war if we don't stop him."

"That's why I'm here, Sarge, to reform a specialized team, consisting of you, Lopez, and various others to stop him, bring him to justice if possible, or eliminate him if necessary.”

“Who are these ‘various others’ you speak of?” questioned the Red leader.

“The other Reds and Blues,” the Freelancer answered. Before the Red could make any sort of rebuttal, he continued, “If we don't do something, this war will cost the lives of millions and may tear apart Earth and all her Colonies at the seams. So," he looked at the grizzled Red straight in the eyes, emphasizing the weight of the situation, "are you in?"

Without missing a beat, he replied, "I'm in." If he was being honest with himself, he had already thought up his mind about the matter of the situation. His work, as important as it was to him, still was of much lower priority than what he was told. He knew the Director was a dangerous man, the creation of the Alpha and Freelancers attesting to that. He knew his instability, his years of pent-up rage and sorrow, a victim of the Human-Covenant War. People had suffered for his creations and decisions, and people would continue to suffer with him on the loose. This was also coupled with the fact that Sarge and, if he was certain, the rest of the simulation troopers had a score to settle with him. This was an opportunity he would not miss.

Lopez glanced over at Sarge. " _Por favor dime que no solo aceptaste esto_."

"Doesn't matter what I think, Lopez," Sarge replied. "This is a matter of justice to our long-time enemy, even more so than to the Blues. Besides," he chuckled, "you don't have a choice. Technically you're my subordinate, so you _have_ to do as I say. Am I clear?"

The android audibly sighed. " _Sí señor_."

The Freelancer, in the meantime, gave the Red a questioning glance. "Are you absolutely sure about this? This may be the most dangerous op in your career, even in _my_ career. The stakes are incredibly high."

Once again, Sarge chuckled at the remark like it was a joke. "Son, I've never been more certain of anything in my life. This man, he has to pay for what he's done. And I want to be there to personally make sure his time comes."


	4. Reassemble - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Church, Tex, and Sarge now fully participating in Agent Washington's taskforce, the next part of the team is currently on Sanghelios, his mettle being tested by a rabble of Elites...

Location: Vadam Keep, Sanghelios   
Daily Time: 1300 Hours   
Date: June 11, 2557

"Blarg!" gasped the alien as his back landed onto the hardened floor, his glowing energy sword clattering against the ground. The battle had not been fortunate for the creature so far with various bruises against his skin from multiple landings across the same floor recently.

The mandible-face soldier looked up. From above his head, he could see a large group of young, seven-foot tall split-faced armored creatures standing around him, all in prepped in fighting stances. Judging by their wide eyes and gaping mandibles as well as the lack of scars, he could tell they were all still aspirants, practically fresh trainees, familiar with the concept of battle, but not so much the execution and flow of it.

The Sangheili looked around, trying to get a better idea of where he was. He was lying in the middle of a stone courtyard that had roughly 50-by-50 feet of open, barren rock, bordered on three sides by small, short walls, which in turn were connected to an outer pathway that made a circuit around the court. This was just an interior corridor that was connected to a large, pseudo-Medieval Japanese building, which also made up three of the four sides of the courtyard. The fourth side, however, had a giant wooden door, standing roughly 25 feet tall. It had carvings of warriors that came before, of great battles won in the thousands of years since the formation of the Covenant, and many more from even before that.

He looked straight up into the air as he tried to briefly rest his head from the recent impact. The sky had taken a light blue color, which was quite normal even considering the system's three suns. Every once in a while a small or medium aircraft would fly overhead, zooming by and leaving brief purple, blue, or even red streaks in the air from the aftermath of burning plasma anti-grav engines.

He looked down, bringing his attention to the seven other figures in the courtyard. Five of them he knew, battle-brothers in their own right, all wearing red armor, all of them holding energy swords in their right hands, symbolizing their allegiance to the newly-formed Swords of Sanghelios, but it were the two others that brought him no small amount of concern. They were the ones his brothers were fighting for the moment. One he knew, a tall, well-known Sangheili warrior that went by a strange name, different from most. He knew that this Elite would be difficult to beat, but it was the other figure that took him by surprise. He was very different from the rest of them. It wasn't just his personality that was different, but him in general. He wasn't like them. He was more –

"Jukan," called one of his comrades. He spoke a human language, English, if he could recall properly, what was widely considered the most prominent of the humans' many unique and colorful languages. Though many still spoke Sangheili, warrior and commoner alike, they had also learned at least some amount of the new language, a necessity for many, especially after considering the near disaster during the Great War that ended almost five years ago, where the world as they knew it was nearly destroyed by the folly of the Prophets.

"Jukan, get up," his ally called more urgently. "We could use your help over here." Before he could say anything else, he was swiftly knocked down, kicked by the opposing Elite.

The warrior picked himself up, grabbing his weapon as he did. Brushing himself off, he turned to face the twin opponents his brothers were fighting. Now he could clearly see his opponents. A pair of aqua-colored humanoids, each holding a crackling energy sword in one of their two hands. One was the aforementioned Elite, but the other one, however, was a human warrior. And not just any warrior. This human was dressed head to toe in combat armor, Mark VI MJOLNIR, armor that had been worn by the demons his race had fought against in past years. He had been making quite an impression ever since he first arrived at the capital, grabbing everyone's attention as soon as they had seen him. His personality and mannerisms made him exotic, someone that seemed to uniquely out of place, like an accidental stroke against a canvas that, in contrast to many, only enhanced the painting. He would show everyone otherwise, show them all that there was nothing special about this off-worlder, this _human_.

He shook the thought from his mind before it could devolve into little more than frustration and anger, trying to concentrate on the battle at hand. From his view he could see that his brothers weren't beating the opposition, even despite the fact that they had superior numbers. They were _losing_ , badly if the plethora of visible bruises were any indication. The Elite gripped the hilt of his sword tightly and charged back into the carnage, his eyes firmly fixed on the human.

* * *

"Junior, another one's coming back," shouted the aqua-armored human, his head turned slightly to his Sangheili partner while blocking another of the Elite's blows with his sword. The energy blades crackled as they connected, creating a bright, instantaneous flash of sparks.

"Blarg!" replied the Elite behind him, who was twisting around and weaving between the attacks his two opponents were throwing out.

"I know that! I'm just trying to inform you for the moment!" the human snapped back, taking up another fighting stance as the three other Elites prepared to strike at him again. A split second later the sixth warrior was at him, striking well before the others even took a step forward.

However, the human saw him coming a mile away. He sidestepped to his left, making the energy sword cut through thin air. Twisting quickly, he struck out at the Elite with his empty left hand, punching him in the side of the face. The warrior fell onto his side, knocked cold by the counterattack.

Taking advantage of the distraction, the other three opponents struck out at the man with their swords. Unfortunately for them, the off-worlder was prepared for their attacks and, with quick precision, moved his sword in a blur of motion, deflecting all three of the Elites' blows and knocking each of them back with a punch to their sternums. The Elites roared in anger, their frustration and impatience flaring.

During those same moments the Sangheili known as Junior rushed up to his two opponents and successfully blocked both of their attacks, stopping the one to his right with his sword and the grabbing the wrist of the one to his left. Appearing almost effortlessly, he kicked one in the chest, sending the Elite back a few feet, well out of arm's length. He turned his head to the other red-armored alien and let go of his wrist, only to jab him in the face with the same hand, causing the warrior to bring his hands up and stumble back a few steps.

The duo stood back-to-back, their attention fixed on the six reptilian warriors that had now completely surrounded them. From anyone's perspective it looked as if the two aqua soldiers were, or soon would be, defeated.

"Give it up, human," sneered one of the monstrous aspirants, his body poised to strike, as well as the others. "You won't win this fight. We have you outnumbered."

"Give up?" asked the swordsman in a voice that sounded jubilant, even cocky. "Why the fuck should I? It seems to me that you should be the ones to give up. I've been practically beating you ever since this whole thing started. Same goes to Junior."

The aqua-armored Sangheili grunted in approval. "He's right, you know," he said in a strong, deep voice, speaking in their native language. "You've been going at us for quite a while and look where that's gotten you, all mangled and beaten down."

Three of the aliens growled in denial. "Exactly, dudes," the human continued, apparently seeming to have understood what the Elite behind him said. "Besides, you haven't even given us a scratch since the beginning of the fight."

At that comment the six Elites roared in anger and charged at the duo, bringing up their swords to strike out in rage.

"Switch!" called out the human. Upon hearing the command, the large alien behind him turned to his partner and jumped over him. Simultaneously, the human ducked under. The opposing Elites froze for a split second, confused by the unorthodox movement, before continuing to attack. But one second was all the swordsmen needed.

From under the Sangheili, the human brought his left arm up, hitting his fist up into the jaw of the one to his left. At the same time Junior brought his fist down onto the forehead of the alien to his far left. Both creatures fell hard onto the stone floor, knocked cold by the sudden strikes.

Mere milliseconds passed before the pair continued on. Junior swung his right arm around to the left side of his body in a sweeping motion, knocking the three other Elites' swords over and causing them to stumble. Meanwhile, the aqua human brought his sword arm up, narrowly missing the other Elite's face. It could feel the heat emanating off of the blades. In response, the Elite quickly moved backwards, not wanting to get his face singed.

The twin aqua figures went back to back again, ready to face more resistance. Two of their opponents were knocked out, but that still left four of them alive and well. The four combatants moved forward again, trying to get an edge on their still-unscathed targets.

But as soon as they got within striking distance the duo did something else none of them expected, or seen for that matter, before. In one fluid motion, the two allies turned around and grabbed each other's left wrists. The blue Sangheili, with a grunt of effort, swung his arm around, lifting the human from the ground like a club. Flying into the air, the human hit and knocked over all three of the three Elites closer to his teammate with his legs.

With the continual momentum, Junior twisted his body over to the last elite before letting go of his partner. The human went flying, eventually smashing his body into the final red elite. They fell down, the creature landing with a thump on his back, and the human kicked off the large muscular Sangheili, skidding off his opponent and flipping onto the hard, grey stone floor feet-first a few meters away.

Jukan wheezed, trying to catch his breath after having been hit by such a strong blow. Although he had been trained in the ways of the swordsman, he had never seen anything as unpredictable as that. And it wasn't just surprising. It was embarrassing as well. To have been knocked down was shameful, but to have been knocked down by a human was downright disgraceful.

With his remaining strength, the Sangheili placed his hands on the smooth, solid ground and pushed himself up. He suddenly looked around on the floor, realizing that his energy sword was missing. His sword was his life and it was the only way for him to be able to beat the human. No ranged weapons would be allowed for this fight, not that he'd use them on the human to begin with. He swept his gaze around before fixing his eyes on his weapon, the sword still crackling with energy as it lied on its side.

Moving over to it, the Elite bent over and grasped the thin cylindrical hilt of the sword. He stood up, looking across the length of the deadly energy blade as it crackled in the air. To see such a weapon was to see real power, but to hold one was different altogether. To hold one was to have the ability to wield true plasma, a mark of honor among the warriors of Sanghelios, a symbol of honor and death itself. It was a weapon that could cut through almost any armor, that kill land a killing blow against most living things with but a single stroke. It was not to be trifled with. Content, Jukan turned back to the human, holding his sword outward and taking up a fighting stance. The human was already prepared, his left hand slightly in front of him, his sword held back, and his legs spread shoulder-length apart, a classic fighting pose.

The two combatants circled around each other, both ready to strike as soon as the other made a move. All fell silent as the opponents faced each other, their eyes firmly fixed on their opponent. Even Junior seemed to back away, sensing that this was to be a personal thing for them to deal with. Now would not have been a good time to lose concentration, for they were both experienced swordsmen and the one on the defensive had an advantage over their opponent. Their advantage laid in readiness and firm counterattack.

Deciding to make the first move, the red Sangheili rushed forward and swung his sword around in a counterclockwise arc up to his opponent. In response, the aqua human brought his right arm around to his left side and held his sword vertically in a block. The swords collided, causing light to flare up around the weapons.

Jukan brought his arm back before going for an undercut. The greenish-blue human brought his sword down, aligning it horizontally to floor. Again the energy blades struck each other, causing more light to pop up before quickly dissipating. He twisting around clockwise, trying to offset his opponent. Instead, it only made the SPARTAN move faster. The soldier brought his sword around his right side, blocking the Sangheili's attack yet again.

He struck out three more times, all successfully blocked and parried by the human's lightning-fast reflexes. However, upon blocking the third strike, the aqua-colored soldier kicked out with his right foot, hitting his opponent in the chest. The Elite stumbled back, holding his left hand to his belly while still clutching his sword in his right.

Grunting, the Sangheili growled before taking his hand away and stepping forward to deliver another blow. This time, surprisingly, the human sidestepped to the left and punched his opponent in the head. Jukan lurched to his left, this time clutching his face.

Trying to recover, the alien slashed out at his opponent. But instead of blocking, the human ducked under the attack. He heard the sword as is whooshed over his head. Then he kicked out, unexpectedly, at the Elite's right leg. His opponent fell to one knee, bringing his empty hand to the floor once again.

Deciding to finish the duel, the human thumbed the button on his sword, deactivating the power and causing the white-and-blue light to disappear. He then struck out with his left fist. The Elite had no time to react as the human punched out with his right, still holding the hilt of his sword, and then throwing another left hook again, before finishing the combo off with a sweep to his opponent's legs.

The red Sangheili fell on his side, landing on his right arm. He looked up at his opponent, his mind still reeling from the flurry of attacks he had just received. How could someone have moved that fast? He was no Spartan, but he somehow still moved like one. He surely hadn't seen anyone else move that way before.

Standing over him, the human reactivated his sword, bringing the twin points of energy out again. He held his sword out until it was up against Jukan's throat, barely an inch from touching his flesh. He could feel the intense energy as it rippled down the sword's edge, intense, deadly, powerful energy.

"I win," the human stated. Behind him, the other five red Sangheili lied across the stone courtyard. Junior stood nearby, his sword still glowing in his own right hand, watching warily in case any of the others decided to get up and challenge them again.

"Stop!" called out a deep voice. Everyone froze on the spot and turned their head toward the source of the voice. Near the gate, a Sangheili in ornate gold armor stood erect, his body in a calm and relaxed posture, with an air of confidence radiating from his very being. From what the human could tell, the Elite's armor was pointed, seeming more metallic than any suit of armor he'd seen before. The surface was covered with intricately-made markings, a clear sign of an artificer's handiwork. The figure's right shoulder pad stood out, being much larger than his other. And on top of his head, the elite wore a smooth, gold helmet, which came over in front of the elite's face at a point.

"Form up!" snapped the Sangheili. Upon hearing the command, the six red Elites shuffled into a straight line. Junior and the human, meanwhile, just stood in unflinching silence.

"Stop looking around and get back to training. Now!" The other Elites, those that had been spectating the entire fight dispersed, moving away from the main pocket of warriors and back to whatever previous task they had deigned important. Stepping forward, the gold-armored Sangheili motioned for the others to rise. The soldiers stood. Those who had their swords active immediately switched them off and magnetized them to their thigh armor.

He moved toward Jukan, the one with whom the human had just recently fought. The newly-arrived alien chuckled. "Looks like you still need to work on basics, Kaia'sai Jukan."

The red soldier responded immediately, trying not to panic from the situation that he knew was coming. "But, Master Vadam, I was merely trying to best the human and his little friend in some friendly dueling."

"You mean our comrades, Lavernius Tucker and Junior." The Sangheili motioned his right hand over to the twin aqua soldiers. Jukan had to swallow the bile that immediately formed in his mouth at the mention of the human's full name. "Show some respect to our associates. They are actually quite helpful around here, if you haven't already been able to tell. They, unlike you, already have combat experience fighting off remnants of the Storm Covenant. Being ambassadors with the UNSC and smoothing out our alliance also puts them in a very helpful standing." He narrowed his eyes at the beaten aspirant. "Don't disrupt them or disrespect them, Kaia'sai. It will cause you to lose your honor. Or maybe," he chuckled, "you would like to become the next Arbiter?"

Jukan's blood ran cold at the suggestion. "O-of course not, master," he stammered out, attempting to regain some semblance of control. "I would never stoop so low."

"Then prove it to me," snapped his lecturer. "Prove to me that you still retain at least some remnant of your honor."

"I will, Arbiter Thel 'Vadam." And with that, the red warrior turned away, shuffling quickly through one of the side hallways. The other five Elites scrambled over to their comrade, disappearing behind the stone walls.

The Arbiter turned to the remaining two fighters. "It's alright, friends. No need to be so formal. You may relax now."

Both of them let out a sigh. "Thanks for the rescue, man," said the aqua-colored human.

"Your quite welcome, Tucker. Glad I could be of assistance."

"You couldn't have come in any sooner, Thel?" asked Junior in manner that was more teasing.

The Arbiter let out a huff of approval. "You know me. I think I'd see how things were going first." The part of his face connected to his mandibles curved up a little, giving a Sangheili's interpretation of a smile. "And it looked like you two had it under control."

"Indeed we did,” replied Tucker. “Nothing a good ol' knock to the ass to get them to remember who I am." The three of them burst out laughing, taking the comment in like a nice, friendly joke.

Looking at the trio, anyone would've thought they were seeing the weirdest group of friends in the world. And they'd probably be right. To see a human, Arbiter, and normal Sangheili would be beyond comprehension to most people, human, and Elite alike. But not to them. To them their friendship fit together as well as bunch of pieces of a puzzle. The leader, the native, and the offworlder. The commander, father, and son. All equally different, but similar at the same time. Each was a yin and yang to each other, perfectly balancing their imperfections and personalities against each other.

After a while the laughter died down and the three people caught their breath. "I know said this a million times by now, but thanks, Arbiter. For letting us stay here," said Tucker. "Without you I don't know where Junior and I would be now."

"The pleasure is all mine, friend." He stopped moving his mandibles and a look of concern suddenly crossed his face.

This time it was the aqua Elite who spoke. "I'm guessing you didn't just come here to watch us spar, did you, Thel?" asked Junior, this time speaking English. He had become fluent in both languages, due to living in a society that was becoming increasingly adept at both as well as the result of his heritage. Tucker was able to follow the entire conversation without any assistance, such was his grasp on the alien language.

Thel 'Vadam let out a sigh and looked up at his friends. "Unfortunately, yes. The keep elders have just received an incoming transmission."

"A transmission?" asked the blue Sangheili. "For who?"

"For the both of you," he answered simply.

"Who the hell would want to call us now of all times?" asked Tucker, now more than a little curious.

"A human by the name of Agent Washington."

Tucker tensed immediately at the mention of the name. He frowned inside his helmet. "Agent Washington?" he asked through gritted teeth. "You're sure?"

"Positive. If I wasn't sure I have come to tell you both personally."

Tucker cocked his head him thought. What would that Freelancer want with them? He hadn't been in contact with him in _years_. Last he saw of him, he was doing his best to help sweep up the remains of Project Freelancer, with the remaining Simulation troopers in tow. Sure, they'd gotten time to know the guy, even warm up to him a bit, but the stain of betrayal, knowing that he had actively worked with the Meta to find and capture Tex and Church, one of whom he still considered his best friend, still rang loudly in the back of his mind. Such a betrayal was never easy to forget. But perhaps now would be a good time for some answers, now that time had hopefully loosened the tension between them.

Without further ado, the human said, "Well, then let's go see what he wants."

Almost as if on cue, a Covenant Phantom flew down into the courtyard. Shaped like a giant floating purple manta, it hovered over the courtyard, making a constant humming noise. "Huh," said Tucker. "Well, that's convenient." Knowing the Arbiter, it probably wasn't. And with that, the trio stepped into the gravity lift on the bottom of the ship.

* * *

Location: Upper Vadam Keep, Sanghelios   
Daily Time: 1315 Hours   
Date: June 11, 2557

The trio stepped into the well-lit communications room, their back straightened up and their expressions curious yet cautions at the same time.

The chamber was large and round, almost spherical, roughly fifty yards in diameter. It had multiple benched for people to sit, all uniform, all faced toward the opposite side of the entrance, where a large, plasma-powered screen came into view. It was here that the three warriors had their eyes fixed.

Displayed on the projector was a man, a man wearing a full set of steel-colored MJOLNIR Mark VI armor with gold trim on his shoulders, arms, thighs, and part of his helmet. He stood there, his shining gold visor looming over the three armored figures that came into view.

They stopped in the center of the room, their eyes firmly fixed on the screen. Deciding to break the silence, Tucker let out a sigh. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Agent Washington of Project Ass-Face! Come to send us another postcard, have you?" sneered the ex-Blue soldier, the contempt from the Freelancer's past actions apparently not having died down in the slightest.

"Tucker," said Washington slowly, trying to keep the situation calm. "Please. Just stop and let me explai-"

"Explain what?" snapped Tucker, his anger suddenly flaring up. The Arbiter, and Junior for that matter, looked down at him, having never seen the Blue this angry before. "Why you haven't called in the last four years? You couldn't have dropped by, or even left a hello or two through a call? Anything like that? In the last _four years_?! Well, that's just too fucking bad, jackass, 'cause I ain't playing nice anymo-"

"Tucker, stop!" shouted Wash, his own frustration threatening to surface. The Blue did as commanded, taken aback by the fury in the Freelancer's voice.

Wash closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. There were times when wanted to just punch the Sim troopers for their immaturity, and not just Tucker, although he seemed like a prime target right about now. He needed to take control of the situation before it spun out of control. "Just," he whispered, "let me explain. _Please_."

Lavernius breathed in deeply, now trying to calm himself down. "Alright, Wash. I'll give you one chance to impress me. What do you want?"

"I need your help. I need you to come with me for a mission."

"A mission?" he questioned. "What's the objective?"

"To stop the Director of Project Freelancer by any means possible."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Tucker, his anger and bitterness now completely replaced by confusion. "Did you just say Director? As in _the_ Director?"

"Yes, Tucker. _The_ Director. He escaped from prison a few days ago and now he's running amuck with the Insurrectionists, who have been leading multiple attacks against the UNSC for the past several days. The UNSC is worried he'll use the knowledge he acquired from Project Freelancers to make a new group of supersoldiers, ones that will lead the Insurrectionists to victory." The Blue stood silent, baffled by the comment. He took a second to process the information. The Director? Escaped? Broken out by Insurrectionists? Now running around doing God-knows-what to help them create people like Wyoming, Washington, the Meta, or Tex? How could they stop someone like him?

After a long pause the Blue restarted the conversation. "I don't believe you."

Wash looked up in surprise at the bluntness of his statement. "Wait, what?"

"Like I said, I don't believe you. There is no way the Director escaped from prison."

"Why not?"

"Because there's no way that's possible, dude. He couldn't have escaped."

"What makes you so certain of that?" Wash questioned.

"Because he was taken by the UNSC, a branded war criminal." Tucker spoke with clarity, conviction in his voice. "And not just the plain UNSC, but _ONI_ of all organizations, taken to some top-level prison so that he'd never seen the light of day. ONI is _good_ at keeping people like him locked away forever."

"But he did, Tucker."

"Doesn't matter what you say, Wash," he cemented himself, "I still don't believe you."

"He's right, Tucker," a new voice spoke, one that Tucker hadn't heard of in years. From off to the right, a man walked onto the screen, his armor of the same make as the Freelancer's, but cobalt blue instead. Tucker recognized that armor almost instantly. He hadn't seen that armor in years, but the times he had seen it brought back memories, so many memories, some of them absolute shit, but many more of fond times, of simpler times.

"Church," he greeted in a happy, almost delighted manner. To see one of his teammates after all these years was remarkable, but to see Church brought a whole new level of glee altogether. "I didn't realize you were here."

"Hell yeah, I am, Tucker, back and better than ever." Tucker could hear the smile and even a little bit of that familiar cockiness in his voice as he spoke. That voice immediately died down and he returned to a more normal composure. "We need you and Junior to come back with us, man, to help stop that bastard Director once and for all."

"You need our help? But how can we help? I don't know about you, but we've been kinda out of the loop for some time now." He threw a glare briefly at Washington. The Freelancer remained unfazed, however. "Besides, if what Wash said was true, then there's no way the four of us can take down the Director. Not apart, anyway."

"No, not apart. But together." This time a different voice called from off screen, a much heavier, more Southern-accented voice. From over to the left, another figure entered the screen. This figure wore a set of red Mark VI MJOLNIR armor.

"Sarge?" exclaimed the aqua soldier. He was just barely able to recognize the Red soldier after all these years. It had been so long since he had seen his enemy, although 'enemy' was quite a stretch for who he had been in all those years they'd fought each other. More like 'begrudging friend who won't admit to the friendship no matter how much you asked'. But become a friend he did, even after all the things they in their time at Blood Gulch.

"Yes, Blue, we are all coming back together again. Apparently Wash here," he gestured to the Freelancer, "needs our help for this one. And this time it's serious."

Given these new sources of information, Tucker looked down in thought. He tried balancing the given information, tried sorting it out, but could see how much of a tight situation everyone was in. If a Freelancer, his best friend, and former enemy were all saying the same thing, then things were as dire as Washington made them out to be. He wanted to argue against it, but the evidence was right before him. Only a fool would argue otherwise, and his mom didn't raise a fool. "What about Arby here and Junior?"

This time it was Thel who spoke. "My place is with my own kind, Lavernius." Tucker turned to face his friend. "I need to coordinate with the Sangheili here on my homeworld. Jul M'dama and his Storm Covenant still pose a great threat, and there's no telling when he will attack next, so my focus must remain here. But I will provide whatever support I can give you for this task. You have my word."

Smiling warmly at the gesture, Tucker looked back at his son. "And what about you, Junior? Will you come with us or stay on Sanghelios?"

"If it's all the same to you, father, I would like to join you on this adventure. It looks this will be one of the biggest battles of your life and, frankly, you're going to need all the help you can get." He did his best to form a smile on his face, but he didn't need to. He could tell his son was excited for this journey, their first real one as father and son. Yes, he was only a few years old, still a child by human years, but he'd grown fast, practically become an adult, a side-effect of the subspecies of Sangheili he'd originally come from. Not only had he physically grown, he'd also grown as a person, matured into a very capable, honorable, and deadly warrior, one Tucker couldn't be more proud of. He wouldn't dare deny Junior this chance to be by his side once more.

"Okay, then." Tucker let out a sigh and turned back to the screen, staring directly into the faces Washington, Church, and Sarge with a look of determination in his eyes. Even with his helmet on, he could tell that they could tell that he was up for what was to come. With such evidence before him and the backing of both his friends and his family, he would face this challenge with pride and conviction. He would face this challenge head-on, just as he did all the times before.

"We're in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of Reassemble - Part 3. I promise, there's only going to be one more part of the 'Reassemble' section of the story. Once that's over, then we can actually get on with the main plot.
> 
> Yes, Tucker is friends with the Arbiter and he also speaks and understands Sangheili. I figured it would help sell just how long he was with them.
> 
> Hope you're all enjoying the story so far :)


	5. Reassemble - Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker and Junior have agreed to join the Reds and Blues in helping stop the Director. On New Harmony, the Insurrectionists are attempting to wrest control of multiple military installations to gain a major foothold from while to launch further attacks. The next part of the team is currently in the process of pushing them out of UNSC territory.

Location: UNSC Zenith Command Bridge, Halcyon-Class Light Cruiser, New Harmony Low Orbit Staging Ground

Shipboard Time: 1500 Hours

Date: June 14, 2557

The command bridge was, as most people would say, a chaotic mess. Men and women in gray navy uniforms were running back and forth from station to station, trying to relay and decipher information that was coming to them on their comms network at a flash as the seconds ticked by. People were giving out orders, trying to make sense of the bloody mess that was happening on the surface of the now hellhole-of-a-planet New Harmony.

Just a mere hour ago, the Zenith received an alert transmission originating from the planetary capital, Solomon's Hope, relating to the attack on a nearby Army base caused by Insurrectionist forces. And it had only just started there. Soon enough another transmission came in about an Insurrectionist attack, and another, and another, until the point where the Zenith's comms was being bombarded by alerts and cries of distress.

Every person on the ship was bustled about, rushing between stations and computer terminals, all except for one man. The man was in his early fifties, with hair just barely starting to turn grey compared to its usual black. He wore a standard grey navy uniform and, attacked to his right sleeve, was a pin with an eagle holding a scroll, the rank of colonel, as well as the name 'Worthington' stitched just above his right breast pocket. He stood stock still on top of his command podium, hands clasped behind his back, hazel eyes scanning the blue data screens displayed in front of him. Behind the data screens were a set of windows and outside of those windows were five other Halcyon cruisers, seven heavy frigates, a trio of destroyers, and dozens of smaller craft, not to mention a pair of prowlers and even a small fleet of Sangheili-controlled Covenant cruisers.

"Colonel, another incoming transmission from Ocera Military Base," called out one of the crew members from below him, trying to shout over all the noise in the command bridge alone. The colonel turned to the crew member who caught his attention, a blank expression across his face.

"Patch it through to me," commanded Worthington in a strong, firm voice that sounded almost fatherly in some aspects. He turned back to the screen. The bright blue holoscreen flashed and a map of the base opened up in front of him. The base was located near the southern end of the largest of the planet's five continents, with wide windswept plains, gentle rivers, and dense forests broken only by a handful of imposing and majestic mountain ranges. To the UNSC it was known to be wide and open for military purposes, particularly tank and reconnaissance units. He could make out several outlined structures, including several barracks, an armory, command post, and vehicle depot. Multiple dots came onto the screen, several clusters of yellow points located around the facility and even larger groups of red dots scattered around the base interior, some located on top of nearby rooftops, the rest on the ground, many intermixed among the yellow dots.

"This is Colonel Worthington of the UNSC Zenith responding to your distress call," said the colonel, relaying through an open microphone in front of him. "What's your status, soldier?"

"This is Corporal Guillen of Charlie Squad, 4th Infantry Battalion," replied a young, panic-stricken voice, "requesting immediate assistance. Taking heavy casualties from Insurrectionist forces."

"Roger that, Corporal. What's your position?"

"We're pinned down on the west side of the facility in front of the entrance to the vehicle depot."

"Roger that Corporal, we are tracking your location now." The screen immediately zoomed in on the largest structure in base, the only one big enough to fit any sort of military war machine. Outside of the entrance was a small, proportionate amount of yellow blips. Further out was a much larger group of red dots, spread out in a way that formed a semicircle around the defensive UNSC forces. The colonel scanned the area before flipping through a cluster of information on a glowing blue data pad in front of him.

Giving a moment to analyze the situation, Worthington turned back to the map displayed on the screen in front of the command platform.

"Charlie Squad, be advised, we cannot provide support for the moment," he radioed back to the despaired trooper.

"Sir, I need reinforcements now," cried the trooper desperately through the speaker. “If the rebels break through to the vehicle depot they're going to get their hands on some pretty big guns and you'll have a much bigger situation on your hands.”

"I understand that, Corporal, but we don't have any available units in the -"

"Sir," interrupted one of the crew members below.

"Hold that thought, soldier. I'll get back to you ASAP."

The colonel turned his attention to the man who called out to him. "What is it, Gregoras?"

The man straighten himself in front of his superior before answering, "We have two available personnel in the immediate area that can assist, sir."

Worthington gave the officer a questionable look. "Available personnel? Which ones?"

Gregoras looked down to a nearby data pad and glanced at the information before quickly looking back up to the colonel. "Red-2 and Red-3, sir."

"Really? Where?"

"Only two-and-a-half klicks south of the base, sir."

The colonel's face brightened up at the statement. He swiftly turned his face back to the main screen. "Charlie Squad, I need you to hold out a little bit longer. Reinforcements are en route to your position now."

"Roger that, sir," replied Corporal Guillen.

Worthington turned back to Gregoras. "Transmit new orders, immediately. Objective: regain control of Ocera Military Base Vehicle Depot."

"Yes, sir," responded the bridge crewman before turning to a nearby command module. "Come in, Red-2, come in Red-3. Confirm new orders…"

The officer's voice faded as the colonel turned back to the screen. This is where things mattered. If they can't secure that station soon, the difficulty of the fight will be increased exponentially. No, this had to be done. This is where it counted.

* * *

Location: UNSC Ocera Military Base Vehicle Depot, New Harmony

Daily Time: 1504 Hours

Date: June 14, 2557

"Get down!" shouted one of soldiers of Charlie Squad. The squad ducked behind a concrete barrier as a rocket whizzed past them over their heads. The rocket slammed into the depot wall behind them, causing the troops to flinch and grip their rifles even tighter than before. One of the marines turned to look at the huge, black dent behind them before facing his teammates.

"Holy shit! This is bad, man. Really fucking bad," whimpered another soldier.

One of the squad members peeked his head over the grey wall, trying to get a good picture of the battlefield. There were bodies everywhere, a few Insurrectionists, but mostly other Army infantrymen. Rubble and debris lied scattered about, consisting mostly of pieces of wood, stone, and vehicle parts. Standing at a good twenty yards away, the soldier saw a large, very large, group of Insurrectionists, perhaps thirty or forty of them. Roughly five of them were standing on the roof, the rest taking positions on the ground. Each rebel wore a set of stolen sage-colored marine armor with various red pieces, supposedly to help distinguish between friend and foe. The marine quickly ducked back down as the rebels started firing their weapons again.

"Yeah, we're going to die," squeaked another squadmate, Private Kline. He hadn't meant for things to be this way and he sure as hell didn't want to die. He was only 18 and he wanted to do so much more. He was supposed to do his duty, live a full life, be what he wanted to be. But it looked like none of what he wanted was going to pass. It looked like he was going down the same way all his friends did, with a bullet to the chest and a slow, painful death.

They all looked at each other, trying to find someone who was at least a slight bit braver than them, but only found that their other comrades were just as afraid as they could be.

"Well, guys, this is it. It was nice knowing you all." They all nodded and closed their eyes, waiting for their inevitable destruction. Time seemed to slow down as their lives flashed before their eyes. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours.

"Hey, guys?" asked one of the soldiers.

They to their teammate. "What is it now?" asked Corporal Guillen. "Can't you see we're about to get killed?"

"No, guys, stop. Listen." The remaining squad members stopped what they were doing and sat there. Out in the distance, just beyond the gunfire and chaos ensuing around them, they could hear a very faint noise. It sounded almost like a whir, a very fast whir, like a revving motor. And it was getting louder, much, much louder.

The soldiers popped their heads above the concrete wall, almost completely ignoring the bullets and rockets flying past them. The troopers could definitely hear the noise now. They all turned their heads left. Some of the rebels stopped firing too, hearing the distracting whirring as well.

It got louder, and louder, and even louder as the seconds went by. Along with the whirring they could barely hear the scrapping of tires on hard pavement. Whatever it was, it was coming in, and fast.

In a sudden burst of speed, an olive-skinned, machine gun variant warthog burst out from behind a pile of oil drums, scattering the large metal cans all across the open complex grounds. The infantrymen and Insurrectionists jumped in surprise at the sudden appearance of a fully functional, armed, extremely fast, militarized vehicle.

From their viewpoint, the marines could make out a maroon-colored figure manning the tri-barreled machinegun turret on the back and a bright-orange man driving the jeep. They couldn't see their saviors faces, as they were wearing advanced, head-and-face covering helmets that had gold visors and were attached to their armor. From the looks of it, their armor was quite different from that of a standard marine or army infantryman, being in the shape of MJOLNIR Mark VI armor seen on the legendary SPARTAN-IIs, IIIs, and now IVs.

One of the Insurrectionists screamed as the warthog rammed full throttle into him, sending the now crushed rebel's body flying off the hood. Knocked out of their trance by the death of one of their teammates, the Insurrectionists began to fire at the infantry squad again, though most of their shots were focused on the military vehicle instead.

"Simmons, on your left!" shouted the driver. The maroon soldier twisted his body to the side, swinging the machinegun around with him to face the oncoming Insurrectionists. He leveled the sight down at the men on the ground. The warthog, however, just kept on rolling by, knocking aside more debris and wreckage.

"Suck it, Innies!" bellowed the maroon soldier. He squeezed the twin triggers on the dual grips and the tri-barreled assault cannon let loose, spitting out an excessive stream of bullets at the reacting men. Six rebels instantly dropped to the ground, their chest plates riddled with puncture marks.

Ten of the remaining enemies ducked down behind what cover was available to them while the rest stood still, continuing their stream of fire. But that mistake would prove to be their undoing, for the maroon soldier the driver called Simmons kept his stream of fire up as the warthog continued barreling past. The rebels that were still on their feet fell the same way as their comrades, bullet holes punched all across their chest and blood pouring out in a slow but constant drip.

The warthog drove on and reached the other side of the courtyard in under a second. However, upon reaching the other side, it swerved and tumbled over as it tried to turn right. To add to the effect, one of the rebels started firing at the 'hog with a rocket launcher. The rockets didn't hit the jeep itself, though, but hit the ground below it, causing the vehicle to spin around even more.

The orange man rolled out of the driver's seat as the vehicle started flipping over and the gunner did the same, practically falling off of the gunner seat and rolling backwards to transfer the momentum.

The warthog crashed into a nearby warehouse with a loud smash, imbedding itself into the wall. At the same time, the two soldiers reached behind their backs and each pulled out a battle rifle. The Insurrectionists that had ducked down rose back up and started firing at them again. But the unexpected reinforcements were already moving. Simmons had taken cover behind a wrecked warthog and began suppressing fire on the remaining rebels. He instantly killed two of them, one with a chest shot and another right through the helmet. Simultaneously, the orange man kept sprinting across the open terrain, eventually getting behind a pair of crates. He also started firing at the Insurrectionists, focusing his fire on the men at the top of the building.

From around the corner of another building near the orange man, a squad of green and red rebels rushed out toward the two soldiers with yet another warthog bringing up the rear. The warthog came to a sudden halt and started firing at the maroon soldier, apparently unaware of the orange-colored man behind the crates. Simmons ducked down as the bullets bounced against the destroyed armor plating.

"Grif!" called out the Red. The orange soldier turned to look at his pinned comrade before sticking his head out for half a second. He swiftly brought it back out of sight, trying not to get spotted by the newly-emerged threat.

Keenly aware that they wouldn't be able to hold out both battle groups, Grif held his gun in his left hand, reached down to his hip, and pulled out a frag grenade. The olive-skinned weapon rested in his palm as he weighed it. The soldier thumbed the red activation buttons on top of the fruit-shaped explosive and brought his arm back before chucking the fist-sized grenade up to the top of the building.

After a second or two of freefalling, the grenade bounced against the roof of the structure before resting in between the legs of one of the combatants. The Insurrectionist jerked his head down at the sudden realization of what was just thrown to him. But it was too late. Half a second later a loud boom was heard and the rooftop exploded with light, engulfing the team of rebels in heat and shrapnel for the merest fraction of a second before disappearing, replaced with a crater and a missing piece of the roof. The missing roof fragment fell downward and crushed the other ten Insurrectionists in a torrent of broken steel and shattered glass.

Within the time it took the grenade to explode Grif brought his right hand back to his rifle grip and grasped it tightly. The first two of the green-and-red colored soldiers came around the side of the crate and the orange trooper bore his sights down on the unsuspecting men. He managed to line the shot up perfectly, one of the rebel's head completely obscured by his partner. Grif squeezed the trigger and a burst of bullets shot out of the barrel. The two Insurrectionists fell almost instantly, their heads running with blood.

The last three rebels came around the corner just after that, looking to avenger their dead brethren. They would never get the chance to. Grif let go of his rifle with his left hand and curled it into a fist before swinging it at the closest Insurrectionist. His gauntlet connected with the side of the rebel's helmet, cracking the reinforced protective plate. Even if the blow itself didn't outright kill the man, the broken armor certainly would at it embedded itself in the rebel's skull. Before the others could react, the orange soldier spun around counterclockwise and smashed the butt of his rifle into the second-closest rebel soldier. He fell down from the sudden strike and Grif brought his rifle back up at the final squad member. He pulled the trigger once more. The muzzle flashed for but a single burst and the marine dropped dead, a trio of puncture marks across the side of his head.

Unfortunately for him, if the warthog gunner hadn't noticed him before, he sure did now. Grif turned toward the military vehicle to find the triple-barreled minigun pointed directly at him and stood stock still, having completely forgotten that the jeep was even there. His life seemed to flash before his eyes and tt seemed as if Grif wouldn't be able to escape from this fight with his life, despite the fact that he managed to get out of situations like this one in missions past.

"Grif, duck!" called a voice from behind him. The orange soldier and the machine-gunner turned to find Simmons with a rocket launcher in hand, twin barrels pointed straight at the light armored vehicle. Grif immediately jerked his head down and dropped to a prone position, aware of what would happen next. After all, Simmons had a rocket launcher again.

A large crack went off as the rocket zoomed right over his head and into the hood of the warthog. Upon impact the vehicle exploded in a bright reddish-yellow light, killing the crew with it. Once the light dimmed all that remained was a burning hulk of metal that looked like it had been destroyed by a wrecking crew with any and every damaging armament at their disposal.

Grif stood back up and turned his head toward the destroyed vehicle before looking back at his teammate. "You couldn't have done that sooner?" he asked.

The maroon soldier just stared back at him. "No. You got in the way," he replied.

"Well why didn't you shoot it before?" hissed Grif.

"Because A: I didn't have it before, and B: I was under fire, you fucking idiot," rebutted the dark-red soldier.

"Well, where did you get the rocket launcher from?" he questioned now.

"Just picked it up from one of the dead rebels nearby," Simmons supplied. He tossed the now empty rocket launcher to the side and the two armored soldiers strolled on over to the infantrymen by the vehicle depot, who had been hiding behind the same concrete wall the whole time. The troopers began to emerge from their hiding spot, scanning the area for any more rebels that could be lurking nearby. Content that they were alone, one of the soldiers ventured on over to the pair and saluted. Simmons saluted back and they both brought their arms down.

"Thank god you guys came," the army soldier sighed in relief. "We thought for sure we were dead." He paused as he saw that it was only the two men and his squad with him. "I thought there'd be more of you."

"Nope," piped Grif. "Only the two of us. Why? We not good enough?"

"No, sir," the soldier stammered out. Realizing his mistake, he backpedaled. "I mean yes sir."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," smirked the orange soldier, immediately losing interest in any future remarks the infantryman had to say. He turned his head toward Simmons. "I think we did pretty well, Simmons."

The maroon soldier looked back at him. "Yeah, except for your reckless driving."

Grif turned the rest of his body so it was facing Simmons. "Reckless? Dude, if you were the one driving we wouldn't have even made it to the battlefield."

"But still, why did you drive like that?"

Grif sighed under his helmet. "Simmons, sometimes you just have to go for style points. And that leaves me with a score of 27 to 5."

Simmons scoffed at the statement. "What? You're not going to count that one time at Eudemon? That tunnel sneaking thing in the eroded caves?"

"What? No! Command told us to do those flanking maneuvers. It doesn't count if command told you to do something specifically."

"Well, at least I have more kills than you," retorted Simmons.

"That's because you keep using the mini-gun. And the rocket launcher."

"Yeah, well every time you use the rocket launcher you almost kill yourself. And you keep missing with the mini-gun. How do you even miss with a mini-gun? It's a fucking _mini-gun_."

Before he could retort, however, another soldier ran up to them, interrupting the conversation. "Sirs, Colonel Worthington is on the line. He's requesting your attention."

The red soldier looked over to his partner. Grif just shrugged. He turned back to the one who interrupted them. "Alright, we're coming."

* * *

Location: UNSC Ocera Military Base Command Center, New Harmony

Daily Time: 1510 Hours

Date: June 14, 2557

There wasn't much to say about the command post beyond the fact that it was a wrecked hellhole, along with the rest of the base. To call it anything less than that would be a major understatement.

Simmons stepped into the ruined structure and scanned the area, clearly aware that it was secure, but still precautious nonetheless. The room was what used to be a work room full of desks, computers, and monitoring stations. But with the assault on the base it looked like anything but a work room, with knocked-over desks, scattered chairs, and broken hardware. There was even a gaping hole in the wall to his left, probably caused by a rocket misfire.

Grif pushed past the red soldier, causing him to stumble a little. Simmons stepped over to his right and balanced himself. He turned to his partner and glared at him through his visor. "Grif," he whined.

The orange soldier looked back to Simmons. "Dude, it's secure."

Simmons continued to glare at him before commenting, "You know, one of these days you're just going to walk right into a room, think it's secure, and get riddled with bullets."

The pair continued to walk to the other side of the building. "Simmons, we have motion trackers. I'm pretty sure I'd know when there's an enemy in an adjacent room."

"Not if they aren't moving, you idiot," retorted the maroon soldier.

"Ugh. Will you just stop complaining already, Simmons?" hissed Grif. "Every time we do just about anything it's always 'oh, it's too dangerous', or 'that's against regulation', or 'you can't keep that much food in your room'."

"But it's true," he retorted, "you can't just keep thirteen boxes of Oreos, seven skittles bags, twenty Hershey's bars, and a giant gummy bear all in your room. Not only is it against regulation, but we barely have enough space for it in our room. And it's still stinking up the place."

"Okay, okay, I got it! I'll get rid of the damn things. Just stop your fucking complaining, alright?"

"Fine, then," grumbled the red as they reached the other side of the building. A trooper stood off to the side of an intact monitor and saluted to the approaching soldiers. Simmons saluted back and waved him away. The soldier left for the other side of the command center, jogging slightly to quicken the pace.

The orange and maroon soldiers stared at the blue monitor with a solemn Colonel Worthington staring back at them. They saluted and the officer saluted back. Both men and the navy commander lowered their arms in unison. A brief silence fell before Grif asked, "You wanted to see us, sir?"

"Yes, Private, I did. I have new orders for you. Specifically from ONI."

The two reds looked at each other, confused by the colonel's previous statement. They turned back to the screen. "What do you mean, 'specifically by ONI'?" asked Grif.

"Exactly what I mean, Grif. ONI has given me the call to transfer you to a new battlegroup. You are needed elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" questioned Simmons. "Sir, you look like you could use our help down here right now. Can't ONI get someone else?"

"No, Simmons. ONI has requested the both of you specifically."

"Why, sir?" asked Grif.

"I can't give you specifics. All I can tell you is that your new objective is involved with the death of the Director of Project Freelancer as well as his Insurrectionist associates."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Simmons, holding a hand up in the air. "Did you say 'Director'? And 'Project Freelancer'?"

"Affirmative, Private Simmons. They said you had some experience with this man and his military project."

"You have no idea, sir," implied Grif. "Simmons?" he asked. The maroon soldier turned to face his friend.

"Yeah?" asked the armored man.

"This looks like it's shaping up to be a really, really big op. I don't know if we'll be able to pull off a mission this big."

"You won't," commented Worthington.

Grif looked at the blue screen again. "Sir?"

The colonel sighed. "You two won't be able to handle this by yourselves. That's why command has decided to rally you up with another battlegroup, another team." He looked at each of them in the eye. "A pelican will be coming to pick you up shortly. It will have all of your gear and personal belongings in it."

"Thank you, sir," replied Simmons.

"Alright," said the grey-haired officer. "Godspeed and good luck, gentlemen." He brought his right arm up and saluted. The soldiers saluted back to him until the screen went dark a few seconds later.

The Reds began walking away from the monitor when Grif asked, "Who do you think going to be part of this team?"

"I don't know, man," he answered, "but I hope it's Spartans."

"Nah, we're not good enough to be hanging with Spartans."

"Then who do you think will be part of this team?" Simmons asked back.

"I don't know," Grif shrugged," but they're probably a bunch of badasses who are more competent than us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that will conclude the Reassemble section of the fic. I swear I didn't mean to make it feel like this section was dragging. I just wanted to show just how separated the beloved Reds and Blues really are and just what they do as a result. Now we can actually pick up with the main story and actually start looking for the Director.
> 
> Just as a bit of trivia, the first section of the chapter was heavily inspired by the loading screens used in the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare trilogy. Just thought it would give good insight to how the main UNSC was handling fighting the Insurrection. The second section has Simmons talk about Eudemon, which was actually mentioned as a description for one of the maps in Halo 4, the one used as the backdrop for the New Republic secret base in the Chorus Trilogy.


	6. Gang's All Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reds and Blues reunite aboard the 'All or Nothing', the ship they will be operating from. With this reunion, they have a lot to catch up on...

**Gang’s All Here**  
  
Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Training Room Floor, Paris-Class Frigate  
Shipboard Time: 0900 Hours  
Date: June 15, 2557  
  
Church brought his left arm up as Tex threw a jab with her right hand. But just as she was about to connect she went for a side swipe with her other fist. It smashed into the side of the Blue’s helmet, causing him to jerk to the side.  
  
Church stumbled back a few steps and got some distance from his opponent. He brought his arms up in a defensive posture and reevaluated his surroundings. He stood in the middle of the cleared center of a training room floor, weight benches, exercise equipment, and practice gear and weapons lied out all around the center. Beyond those were steel walls which surrounded the entire room, one of which had a several windows which led into a viewing balcony. One of the walls had a large set of sliding doors, big enough to allow a Scorpion Tank to pass through it without much trouble.  
  
He rested his eyes on his opponent. Tex stood in a fighting pose similar to his a few feet away, hands balled into fists and raised in front of her chest. They both had their armor on, helmets sealed over their heads.  
  
“Church,” she warned, “you need to remember what I taught you. Don’t focus completely on any single strike. Move quickly and be ready to block any sort of attack that might be thrown at you. You still don’t have the resilience to take a lot of hits, so you can’t be slow and predictable.”  
  
“I know,” he grumbled. He advanced slowly towards her, keeping her guard up and waiting for an opening. They circled each other for what seemed like a dozen times, their visors fixed on each other.  
  
Then he thought he saw it, a slight falter in the Tex’s stance. As quickly as he could, Church shot his right hand out at the black Freelancer’s face. She blocked it with her left forearm just as he started throwing out his left to hit her in the breastplate. She blocked that one with her other arm and Church continued to throw punches at her, even trying to get a few kicks to the torso. But she just kept on blocking them, even shooting out a few counterattacks herself. He managed to block most of them, the few that connected barely affecting him.  
  
Then he saw an error in one of his attacks, a bit too late. His right arm moved a bit slower than he intended to, going for hook to the side of her head and, because of it, Tex would capitalize on the mistake. And she did just as he predicted, bringing up her left arm and grabbing his wrist with her gauntlet. With the other hand not in use, the Freelancer punched Church in the stomach. The Blue lurched forward a tiny bit, trying not to let the pain get to him.  
  
But it did. And because of that it allowed enough time for Tex to sweep him with her right leg. Church felt his legs leave the ground in an instant and, before he knew it, he was on his back.  
  
“Goddamn it!” he cursed. His head swam a slight bit but he shook it off and he lifted his head, only to find his girlfriend’s boot on top of him. She was crouched down, leaning enough weight on him to prevent him from doing anything that involved his torso.  
  
“I’m never gonna beat you, am I?” he gritted between his teeth, attempting to swallow his pride for what felt like the thousandth time.  
  
Tex chuckled to herself. “You might, if you’d actually listen to my advice.”  
  
Church groaned under his helmet. “I almost had you this time. If you hadn’t kept me busy for so long-”  
  
“I told you,” cut in the Freelancer, her tone immediately turning serious, “if you actually remembered what I taught you, I might not have won.” She stood up and removed her foot, allowing Church to sit up. “But, maybe I still would’ve. Your stamina still needs improvement if you want to keep up with me.” Church grumbled. It was nice being taught how to properly fight by Tex, but being able to try new techniques on her was completely different. Getting up to her level was getting progressively easier, but surpassing her was proving to be impossible. After all, she was a Freelancer. And not just any Freelancer. Agent Texas was the best of the best. She’d stayed as number one on the leaderboard back during Project Freelancer and no one else was able to topple her from it, all for good reason.  
  
Tex held her right hand out to him and Church grabbed it. With a small grunt, she lifted him off the ground. He stumbled a little at first as he got back on his feet, but quickly regaining his balance. As soon as he did, though, he stood there a few seconds and stared at her through his visor, still holding her hand. He didn’t know exactly why he was, but he was. He seemed transfixed by her very presence.

This had happened multiple times in the past, whether they had just finished a sparring match or a battle. He always gave her that look of awe, as if he was seeing her for the first time. He always tried to make sure she didn’t notice. He didn’t want her to think he was sappy. She always got irritated at that for some reason. Church never truly understood why.  
  
Tex noticed, however, and Church immediately let go of the black-armored Freelancer’s hand and hastily backed up. He brought his hand behind his the back of his head and started rubbing it, even though it would do no good, especially considering that he still had his helmet on.  
  
“Uh, Church,” she asked, “are you okay?” He had gone back to staring at her again and she really did notice it this time. The Blue continued to stare at Tex as if he didn’t hear her.  
  
“Church?” she repeated. Still no response. “CHURCH!” she snapped in irritation.  
  
He jerked his head up at her, released from his stupor. “Huh, what?” he asked, confusion evident in his tone.  
  
“Are you okay?” she repeated one more time, her voice on edge.  
  
He blinked behind his helmet before responding, “Oh. Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” He did feel a little bit of pain but, thanks to his armor, most of the power in melee attacks aimed at him were absorbed. Remarkably, that’s why he was never in any serious pain even with punches and kicks being thrown at him that would normally shatter a man’s bones. In fact, that’s why practically all the Reds and Blues got away virtually free of injury in most close-combat-related brawls. It was actually quite amazing how strong their armor was at times.  
  
Tex rolled her eyes, but even with her helmet on, Church could tell anyway. “What?” he asked.  
  
The woman faced him. “You were doing that thing again.”  
  
Church lowered his eyebrows, confused. “What thing?”  
  
Tex scoffed. “Oh don’t be an idiot, Church.”  
  
“What? I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“You were staring at me. Again,” she snapped, her irritation flaring once more.  
  
“What’s wrong with that?”  
  
“You know exactly what’s wrong with that.”  
  
Tex brought her hands up to her helmet and, with a small hiss, the helmet popped loose from the seals around her neck. She lifted it off her head and revealed a smooth, healthily light-skinned, beautiful face matched with a set of green eyes, much like his own. Bringing the armor piece away from her, she let her wavy red hair fall to her shoulders in a similar fashion to a model taking off a motorcycle helmet.  
  
Now Church remembered why he had been staring at her. Yes, she may have been the deadliest Freelancer in the whole galaxy, yes, she was the coldest bitch he had ever met his whole life, and yes, she could probably kill him now a thousand times over if she wanted to, but he still thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met and come to know in his entire life. And she knew it. He still had feelings for her and, even though she would never admit it, he knew she still had feelings for him as well.  
  
“It makes you look stupid,” she said, boring into his eyes with coldness, “and if you look stupid then I look stupid.”  
  
“Tex, I can’t help but just look at you sometimes,” rebutted Church. “You’re just… amazing.”

“Even when I’m beating the shit out of you.”

“Yes,” he answered. Thinking better of his answer, he added, “well, not me specifically. Actually, not even when you’re just beating up people. You’re just… I don’t even know.”  
  
She continued to glare at him silently for several seconds. “Take off your helmet off,” she commanded, seemingly out of nowhere.  
  
Church blinked under his helmet. “What?”  
  
“You heard me. Take off your helmet. I can’t talk to you like this, Church. Not with your helmet on. I need to see your own face, not this blank expression that that bucket is providing.”  
  
Obeying her command, Church brought his hands up to his head and snapped his helmet seals. The blue slipped it off his head and held it against his side. His face was, in most respects, handsome, being relatively smooth and fair-skinned, along with a pair of green eyes similar in fashion to Tex’s. Unlike the cold woman, however, his face gave off an expression that spoke with the weight of eons instead of fire and fury. His fairly short, black hair was, in a small sense, somewhat sloppy, though he had tried to comb it and make it at least somewhat presentable.  
  
“There,” he said, “is that better?”  
  
“Much,” replied Tex. It was strange to him that that she didn’t want him to keep his helmet on, because from his entire time at Blood Gulch, they kept their helmets on at all times. No matter what they did or where they went, they always had their helmets on. But maybe that had more to do with the fact that he had unknowingly possessed Private Jimmy’s body the entire time and she was a robot then. Neither of those exactly incentivized the need to take off their helmets.  
  
Before she could say another word, however, a nearby speaker sounded. The two armored soldiers turned to the nearest one. A woman’s voice called out to them, a voice that sounded robotic yet somewhat harmonic and finely tuned. “Agent Texas, Agent Church,” requested the voice.  
  
“Yes, Sheila?” asked Tex.  
  
“The last of the Red and Blue teams have arrived,” informed the A.I.  
  
“Thank you, Sheila.”  
  
“My pleasure, Agent Texas.” The speaker died down and Church and Tex looked at each other.

“Well, let’s go,” said the Freelancer, gesturing towards the door.  
  
As they started walking Church had a thought. “I hope it was worth it bringing them all back. If Command had told me I’d need to work with them for some super-dangerous mission a few years ago, I’d have told them to go fuck themselves.”  
  
“Agreed,” replied Tex, “If we’re lucky, though, things will be just fine.”

Now it was Church’s turn to scoff in disbelief. “Come on, Tex, since when have we _ever_ been lucky?”

* * *

Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Hangar Bay, Paris-Class Frigate  
Shipboard Time: 0910 Hours  
Date: June 15, 2557  
  
Church and Tex strolled through the open door leading into the main hangar, helmets held against their sides, as another pelican came through the transparent energy screen which separated the ship from the cold void which was outside. Three other pelicans had their landing gears out and began to rest themselves against the steel-plate and grated floor, all lined up, their ramps pointing towards the inner wall of the hangar.  
  
Wash stood off to one side, talking to Sarge about ‘reprogramming Lopez’ and fixing his vocal unit. Lopez just stood sentry next to them, staring silently at the resting troop carriers as they began to unload their cargo. All three of them had their helmets on. Marines and nearby allied soldiers were walking about, moving crates, and repairing machinery. Most of the crewmembers were either ex-Freelancer employees or those that had some sort of affiliation with the Project’s past actions, hand-picked by Agent Washington and Chairman Hargrove. As such, their experience in matters related to Project Freelancer would be invaluable in the weeks to come.  
  
But as the pair got closer to the transports, they were met with a most unexpected greeting. From right to left, the pelicans opened the back doors the same way a person opens his mouth. A pair of figures came walking out of the vehicle the farthest to the right, stumbling a slight bit. Church and Tex could make out both of them, one being an aqua-colored human, the other a tall, also lightish-blue, mandible-faced alien, a Sangheili.  
  
 _Tucker and Junior. It must be_ , Church thought to himself. He examined the two of them, trying to see how they’ve changed.  
  
Now that he was here, Tucker had his helmet off, probably trying to get at least a little bit of fresh air. He looked exactly the same as when Church last saw him, with dark skin, brown eyes, and pearl-white teeth, which added a small sense of charm. He wasn’t as black as Church had thought all those years ago. Hell, he wasn’t really even super dark-skinned. Yes, he was African-American, but he didn’t show any exceptionally dark-skinned traits. In fact, he seemed closer to mixed than true African.  
  
From the pelican next to them, out came a man in pink armor carrying a pair of duffel bags, one in each arm. His helmet was off as well. Church began to shake his head at the brightly colored soldier. Formally known as Donut, he dropped his bags and began to squeal like an excited little school girl. Church got a good look at him as well.  
  
Unlike Tucker’s relatively dark skin, Donut’s face had pale white skin and features that showed attempts to look nice, neat, and ‘fabulous’, complete with a pair of sky-blue eyes and light-blonde hair. He had a very cheery complexion, and radiated the personality of someone who was care-free.  
  
“Oh my god, Sarge!” he exclaimed excitedly and started rushing straight towards the Red. One of the nearby marines dashed out of the way as the pink soldier barreled right into the veteran. Sarge wobbled back, barely able to keep himself from falling over as Donut began to cling on him.  
  
“Aarrgghh!” shouted Sarge in surprise. Washington began to laugh hysterically at the scene that had unfolded in front of him. “Donut, you little rapscallion, get the hell off of me! That’s an order!”  
  
“Oh,” said Donut, quickly jumping off and backing up two steps. “Sorry, sir,” he apologized.  
  
Sarge merely grumbled and brushed his hands against his breastplate, muttering about soldiers and the finer details of proper etiquette and procedure. He glared at the Freelancer and Wash’s laughing died down, though he continued to chuckle to himself.  
  


Out of the third troop transport came a lone figure, a man in standard-blue Mark VI armor, except for a Mark V helmet that was held against his hip. He had an olive-colored duffel bag hanging loosely in his left hand. Church and Tex could clearly make him out, his short brown hair, his chocolate-colored eyes, and a face that made him look like a kid, so innocent and wide-eyed. To just about everyone else he looked like anything but army material. But Church knew better. That man, if pushed properly, was capable of a great many things, from building robots and driving vehicles to wholesale destruction of entire teams of people.  
  
Church widened his eyes as he recognized the man. “Oh no,” he breathed. “Caboose.”  
  
The Blue soldier rested his eyes on Church and smiled gleefully, almost exactly like a child would. “Church!” he shouted ecstatically.  
  
Caboose dropped his helmet and bag and immediately charged full force towards him. Church noticed Tex step off to the side out of the corner of his eye, aware a second too late what was about to happen.  
  
With more force than a charging bull, Caboose barreled into his friend, scooping up and gripping him with a bear hug. Church let go of his helmet as the Blue began to squeeze the life out of him.  
  
“Church,” said Caboose, “did you miss me? Did you? Did you? Did you?”  
  
Trying to regain his breath even as his chest was being crushed by the Blue’s inhuman strength, Church wheezed out, “Yes, Caboose, I missed you. Now would you please let go of me?”  
  
“Okay,” the Blue answered bluntly. He brought his arms away and Church fell with a clatter onto his back. Caboose went back two steps.  
  
Church groaned as he tried to regain his breath. Nearby, Wash and Sarge began laughing at him, going so far as to point fingers at him. Tex snorted in disgust at the two soldiers and looked down at her boyfriend. As an unexpected gesture of kindness, she crouched down and helped Church off the ground, even getting his helmet for him. Church grabbed his armor piece as the Freelancer gave it to him.  
  
The Reds and Blues turned as a fourth dropship landed next to the pelican furthest to the left of the parked transports. It opened its rear hatch and, almost immediately, two soldiers stepped out of the ramp. One of the soldiers wore a maroon set of MJOLNIR armor and the other had the same armor type, but with an orange color instead. Both had their helmets off as well.  
  
Simmons and Grif, thought Church. He looked at maroon-colored one. His face had the makings of a nerd, with fair skin, combed, brown hair, and a face that gave off a meek complexion. He had a pair of brown eyes to go with his face as well. He saw a handful of metallic scars across his face, a sign of the cyborg parts Sarge had installed on him while they were still in Blood Gulch.   
  
He scanned the orange man’s face. He had a fairly scraggy, sloppy-looking face, with messy, oak-colored hair, hazel eyes, and five o’clock shadow. His face completely reminded Church of a stereotypical slop or even a hobo.  
  
Caboose noticed them too and just before he said anything the two arrivals jumped in surprise and pulled out their side-arms.  
  
“Ahh!” Simmons screamed in fright. His hand was trembling as he pointed the gun at Caboose, the nearest Blue team member. Grif had done the same, his hand shaking as well.  
  
But before either of them could pull the trigger Sarge ran up to them from the side and knocked the pistols out of their hands. Simmons screamed again and Grif jumped back.  
  
“Will you two idiots knock it off already?” he growled. Church couldn’t believe it. Sarge, a bloodthirsty, cold-hearted Red sergeant, just saved their lives. Though their armor was excellent at dealing with blunt-force trauma, it was significantly worse at absorbing damage from bullets. The two Reds stood there, baffled as can be. Sarge had also just inadvertently saved the Reds. In truth, they probably wouldn’t have been able to kill them anyway, especially with Tex’s advanced training, Sarge’s cold efficiency, Wash’s swift draw, and Church’s own fighting skills, taught by the black-armored Freelancer herself.  
  
“What the…? Sarge?” asked Grif, realization dawning on his face.  
  
“Oh my god. Sarge!” exclaimed Simmons, his eyes immediately brightening.  
  
“It’s good to see you numbskulls too,” said Sarge. He patted Simmons on the shoulder and growled at Grif. “So, you’re still alive.”  
  
The orange soldier grinned. “You bet I am.”  
  
“‘You bet I am’ what?” he hissed.  
  
It took half-a-second for the question to sink in and he sighed once he got it. “You bet I am, sir,” he retorted.  
  
“That’s better.” Silence fell between them, nothing but the marching of boots and the sound of active machinery humming idly in the background. Everyone stared at each other, some with confusion, some with curiosity, and other with excitement.  
  
Unexpectedly, it was Sheila’s voice that broke the silence. “Agent Church?” she asked.  
  
Church stood where he was with a questioned look on his face. “Agent Church?” the A.I. repeated.  
  
The Blue snapped out of his trance and looked at a nearby speaker. It had taken him quite some time to being called ‘Agent,’ especially since he hadn’t used the terminology extensively. “Yeah, Sheila?” he asked.  
  
“All systems and personnel are accounted for. We are preparing to jump to the coordinates you put in. I suggest you bring your team inside. The trip will take approximately three hours, five minutes, and twenty-two point six seconds and I’m sure you don’t want to stay in the hangar for the duration.”  
  
“Thank you, Sheila,” he replied happily.  
  
“My pleasure.” The speaker died and Church turned to the assembled group.  
  
“Grab your stuff,” he ordered. “Wash and I will show you around.” He motioned the simulation troopers to the door and everyone scrambled to get their gear together, Donut getting his bags, Grif and Simmons snatching up their duffels and helmets, and Caboose scrambling for his helmet and large duffel bag.  
  
In the background, the group heard Sheila giving out warnings and safety precautions, following standard protocols needed to proceed with jumping. “All units prepare for slipspace jump. All personnel please place gear in proper storage compartments…”  
  
The team walked through the door Church and Tex came through to reveal an elevator large enough to fit two warthogs in it side-by-side. They boarded the large metal contraption, everyone except Wash, Church, Tex, Sarge, and Lopez carrying their supplies behind them along with their helmets. When they were in, Lopez hovered his hand over the buttons labeled systematically from ‘Hangar Bay’ to ‘Deck 1’ through ‘Deck 16’. He pressed his hand onto the button labeled ‘Deck 12: Midsection & Living Quarters.’  
  
The Reds and Blues went up the lift in complete, utter silence. None of them wanted to be the one to ask the first question, the one question that was all running through their minds from the moment they came to the ship.  
  
Eventually the elevator stopped moving and the door in front of them opened out into a large, relatively empty hallway. The group started striding forward, taking in the hallway’s layout and design. It was a relatively standard corridor, with a firm set of steel support pillars, hardened metal-grey deck, and reinforced titanium walls that helped support the rest of the ship.  
  
The group continued down the hall in silence before coming to a four-way intersection. There were arrows on nearby walls that pointed to other sections of the ship. A sign pointed to the left hallway read ‘Crew Armory & Living Quarters’. The arrow that pointed direction ahead of them had the words ‘Bridge, Communications, Mess Hall, Training Room & Sick Bay’ printed in bold while the one pointing down the hall directly behind them read ‘Hangar & Drive Room.’ The sign pointing to the right had a similar sign to the one pointing to the left but had the words ‘Freelancer Armory & Living Quarters’ on it instead.  
  
“This way,” called Church, gesturing everyone to turn right.  
  
“But Church, we’re not Freelancers. That’s for those mean people,” pointed out Caboose.  
  
“That’s alright,” supplied Wash. “There aren’t any Freelancers here anyway.”  
  
“You mean besides you and Tex?” asked Simmons.  
  
“Yeah, besides us.”  
  
The group turned right as instructed and walked down the hallway, passing by several closed doors and a few other branching corridors. Eventually the hall turned sharply left and the group did likewise.  
  
“Hey, Church,” asked Tucker, “why did Sheila call you ‘Agent’? You’re not a Freelancer.”  
  
Church slowed down to the point where he was walking right next to the aqua swordsman. “It’s a thing I picked up when I started working with Tex. We don’t really follow the procedures that the UNSC gives most soldiers. We’re kinda independent, and a pretty big deal on top of that, just like Tex was before.”

“What do you mean, ‘kinda’?” Simmons inquired.

“Well, when I say kinda, I mean that we were kinda attached to Delta Force and they’re used by the Army, Navy, and Marines depending on the situation.”

“Wait, you were part of Delta Force?” Grif asked, his voice filled with equal parts exasperation and curiosity.

“Fuck yeah we were,” Church continued proudly. “Tex was one of the very few Freelancers that willingly complied with UNSC authority when the Project went under. Almost everyone else was either dead, a mercenary, or had fallen off the grid entirely.”

“Dude, that’s crazy,” the lazier Red commented.

“Yeah, it is. Honestly, I don’t know what Tex said or did, but she somehow convinced them to let me join her when she was assigned to Delta.”

They continued onward, thinking on what Church had just described. They were all curious, interested, envious, or some combination of the three.  
  
The group walked in silence again a little more before Tucker asked another question. “Are you and Tex together now? Looks to me like you went steady on her. Bow-chicka-bow-wow.”  
  
Church felt irritated at his remark and sighed, trying to clamp down on his emotions. He had to remember that this was who Tucker was, just as Tex’s cold demeanor was a part of who she was and how his angry, abrasive attitude was a part of him as well. None of that should matter anymore. He had survived far worse and the Blue’s perverted nature was nothing unusual compared to his time at Blood Gulch. In fact, if anything, his overuse of sexual innuendos were surprisingly subdued. Besides, he was part of the team now, whether he liked it or not. “No, Tucker. We aren’t together now, as a couple or anything like that. We’ve just been working as a team.” The truth was he wasn’t entirely sure what their relationship was at the moment. Sometimes they acted like an actual couple. Other times they were more like two people who could barely stand each other.  
  
Before anyone could say anything else, however, the group stopped in a much larger hall. There were multiple doors and gaping corridors along the walls, each leading to different sections of the ship. Most of the doors had names, their names, displayed above them in bold, black print. The doors were sectioned off by team color, red on the left, blue on the right, and Freelancer at the end. To confirm Tucker’s suspicions, Church’s door stood next to Tex’s at the far end of the room, who in turn was right next to the door labeled ‘Agent Washington’.  
  
“Alright,” said Wash, turning to the rest of the group, “get yourselves settled in and report to the bridge at 1340 Hours. We’ve got work to do.”  
  
“How are we gonna know where everything is?” asked Junior. Grif and Simmons turned to him in surprise. The Sangheili hadn’t said a word until now but now he had spoken in completely fluent English. This was a whole new experience for them, apparently. Some, like Church and Sarge, had already known ahead of time, while others, like Donut and Tex, weren’t even surprised anymore.  
  
“Yeah,” said Grif, choosing to suppress his sudden anxiety at this small revelation. “And where can we get a bite to eat? I’m starving.”  
  
“There will be a terminal in each of your rooms where you can find the ship schematics. Even one for you, Junior.” Wash nodded to the alien. “Upload it into your helmet and you should be able to access it from your HUDs. You might as well upload a connection to Sheila too while you’re at it.”  
  
The group broke up, most of them heading to their own rooms to dump their stuff, while Church, Tex, and Wash went down another hallway which led to the bridge.  


* * *

Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Bridge, Paris-Class Frigate, Lyria High Orbit  
Shipboard Time: 1340 Hours  
Date: June 17, 2557  
  
Everyone had assembled on the bridge as instructed. The Reds had assembled to the left of large command podium that stood to the center of the bridge, which was connected to the back. The Blues stood to the right and the Freelancers were in the middle, awaiting instructions. Farthest to the right was another MJOLNIR-armored man, this one being the color violet. He sported nothing but an enhanced plasma pistol, which acted as a modified stun gun, EMP trigger, scanner, and small, portable healing unit all put together. Everyone had their helmets back on, their neck braces sealed.  
  
The bridge itself reminded Church of the Mother of Invention’s own command center, with a nice, open viewport in the front, modules and terminals below and to the sides of the podium, and displays at the front of the heightened platform on which they stood. It also had a holotable stored below them, which could be brought up for mission briefings.  
  
Washington stood at in front of them, his arms at his side and his posture straightened.  
  
“So,” said Grif, “now that we’re all here, Wash, what do we do?”  
  
Expecting the question sooner or later, the steel-colored Freelancer replied, “Okay, first things first. We need to narrow down our options on where the Director could be hiding.”  
  
“How do we do that?” asked Donut.  
  
“Well,” replied Wash, “what we need is to gather information from the Insurrectionist data center, which is located on an ice shelf at the northern Lyria hemisphere.” Behind him a monitor flashed to life, zooming in on a 3D representation of the planet below them. The screen zoomed in on a nearby structure similar in shape to an oil rig.  
  
“Why would anyone put a data center here?” questioned Tucker. “It’s in the middle of fucking nowhere.”  
  
“The facility is in a remote location, somewhere where the UNSC won’t be able to easily find it. Not only that, but the rig can be easily destroyed if needed. If it can’t be easily found and accessed, why look for it?” No one answered the question, getting the idea behind the statement.  
  
“How do we get the information?” asked Donut.  
  
“We need to get a small infiltration team into the building and upload the data into a memory chip.”  
  
“Why can’t we just do a smash-and-grab? That will make this particularly easy,” commented Grif.  
  
“The system in which the data is held is in a tight security network. If an alarm goes off, all computer terminals will go into lockdown and we’ll lose our window of opportunity. We can’t afford to lose that window. To lessen the risk of the systems going down, we’ll have to send in a small insertion team who can get in and get out without being seen.”  
  
“Well, in that case,” asked Church, “who are we gonna send in and how?”  
  
“’Who’ will be up to you guys.”  
  
“I’ll go,” piped Donut. Everyone turned to him in surprise. “I’ve done these sorts of missions before. Pink team normally deals with high-risk infiltration and extraction missions all of the time. And I became pretty well acquainted with the way they run things. I’m good at getting in and out unseen.”  
  
The pink soldier moved his helmet left and right, scanning his comrades. “Which of you is the best with demolitions?” he asked.  
  
“That would probably be me or Tex,” replied Grif.  
  
“Okay. I’ll take you, Grif. And who’s the strongest here?”  
  
“That would probably be Caboose,” answered Tex. “Why?”  
  
“I need someone who can open steel doors without much trouble. If we get into a sticky situation Caboose can smash our way out of there.”  
  
“Alright, then,” broke in Wash. “In order to get near the base all three of you will be going in SOEIV pods specially designated for minimal detection. These pods will move in with the floating debris that has been orbiting outside of the planet. Due to the nature of the planet's rings, falling debris is a common occurrence.” He sighed before bringing about his final conclusion. “So, you know your jobs now. Grab whatever equipment you need, get to your pods, and good luck. The rest of us will be providing tactical support from here.”  
  
As one, Donut, Grif, and Caboose all turned around and marched out of the bridge. The rest of them began to disperse, Simmons walking away with Sarge and Lopez, and Junior going with Tucker. Church, Tex, Wash, and the purple man were the only ones who stayed.  
  
“Wow,” said the purple man with no small amount of awe. “This is really exciting. I love how inclusive you guys have become. Just like that. This is so different compared to four years ago.”  
  
“We all know, Doc,” said Tex.  
  
The group stood there for some time, staring at each other through gleaming gold visors. Eventually the medic turned and walked off the deck.  
  
“I don’t know why,” said Church, “but I’m getting a very strange sense of déjà vu.”  
  
“I am too,” commented Tex.   
  
“If it is, let’s hope it’s from something good,” replied the grey-armored Freelancer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the Reds and Blues are back together. Now we can get the ball rolling with the actual plot. In case anyone is wondering, yes, I know Tex is canonically blonde with blue eyes, but I have a story reason for why she matches her pre-Season 10 fanon description, aka the one Rooster Teeth used for Carolina.
> 
> Fun fact: Pink team is a reference to another beloved Halo machinima known as 'Spriggs'.


	7. Déjà Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reds and Blues are put on their first assignment: to gather intel that could lead to the Director's location. Their skills are put to the test for the first time as a team. But things get a bit more complicated, as they normally do with the Blood Gulch crew...

Location: Lyria Insurrectionist Polar Research Facility   
Local Time: 2200 Hours   
Date: June 17, 2557

Kent was running his mouth again. Again he was bitching about how his patrol duty wasn't fair. Again he was complaining about the cold. But worst of all, he was complaining about his CO. _Again_.

Morgan held his battle rifle loosely in his hands and he continued to listen to his partner without any interest. The Insurrectionists had been walking around the base for quite some time now and they had nothing better to do than talk about the usual: how boring the base was, how much everyone sucked, how they got to where they were now, how their family was doing, their past, and whether they would actually win the war or not.

"Damn, why is it so cold here?" asked Kent through the cloth over his mouth.

"I don't know, Kent. Maybe it's because it's ten o'clock at night and we're at a polar research station in the middle of _fucking nowhere_ ," hissed Morgan, cloudy fog coming out from in front of his own covered mouth.

"But still, why the hell do we have to stay out here?" he repeated. Morgan glared at the whining Insurrectionist. Like him, Kent had a set of marine armor modified for arctic-cold temperatures, with warm clothing, insulated armor, and arctic-camouflaged gear. He also sported some red armor permutations for identification purposes, goggles to protect his eyes from any deadly ice particles, and a cloth that served as a mouth cover to protect his face. His teammate, however, sported nothing but a magnum which was hanging in the holster at his side.

Morgan didn't respond to his comrade's question that time and they just kept on walking by. From their view, the Insurrectionists could see a whole swath of the facility, including storage bays, research rooms, control centers, and lots of catwalks, long, supported, steel catwalks. Everything had ice on it, even with all the salt they had spread about.

"Ya know, sometimes I get the impression that you aren't even listening to me," continued Kent.

"What makes you say that?" asked the Insurrectionist as they walked into a nearby security station. They had to do a routine checkup on the equipment to make sure nothing had frozen over in the middle of the night.

"Well, it's just that you don't respond almost at all to whatever I'm saying and when you do you say 'huh', 'yeah, sure', and 'okay'." Kent walked over to a nearby terminal and punched in a key code. The other soldier continued to walk away from him onto another catwalk.

"That's because you keep talking about the same thing over and over again. What do you expect me to say? 'Wow, that's pretty interesting, Kent', or 'That's quite revolutionary, man', or even 'I never even thought about that'. Give me a fucking break, will you?"

"I'm just saying. You used to be a lot more talkative than this. Now you barely say a word anymore around here." The Insurrectionist turned around at a leisurely pace. But then he stopped. The other rebel soldier wasn't with him anymore. That was strange, knowing Morgan. He walked over to where he saw his teammate last and peeked around the corner to the next terminal.

"Morgan?" he called. The cold polar air answered back.

"Come on, Morgan," Kent continued. He started getting nervous and pulled out the pistol from its holster.

"This isn't funny, man." Only the sound of air answered him.

"Morgan, you'd better stop messing around," he said, his voice quivering a slight bit. He aimed his pistol in front of him, his hand firmly held onto the grip.

"Morgan?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper. Kent walked around the corner and let out a sigh of relief. His partner was just checking the next terminal.

The Insurrectionist turned to face Kent. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," replied the soldier as he brought down his gun. "Answer me when I call you next time. Okay, Morgan?"

"Fine," the second Insurrectionist answered in an unconcerned manner.

"I'm serious." Kent's voice pitched as he continued. "I almost shot you, man."

The men walked toward the nearest exit, continuing their daily patrol. "Ya know," continued Kent, "my cousin was doing patrol like this before on a station like this. Several years ago."

"Yeah," said Morgan. "On the one that blew up in the Arctic Ocean back on Earth, right?"

"The exact same one."

"I heard that the whole crew died there. Taken out by a bunch of Freelancers."

"It did. I also heard that just before it blew up a bunch of guards went missing."

"You mean like right now?" suddenly asked another voice. The pair jumped in surprise and turned around. They thought it was another one of their friends coming to talk to them, perhaps pulling a practical joke on them. Instead of another marine, though, a pink-armored Spartan stood in the middle of the room.

"Holy shi-" started Morgan. He never got finish his sentence. In a flash the brightly-colored trooper stepped up to them and punched each of them in the Adam's apple. The Insurrectionists dropped their weapons and gagged, their hands clutching their throats. Without stopping, he twisted around and roundhouse-kicked the guards off of the catwalk and down to freezing ocean far below. Immediately following that he swept up the fallen weapons and dropped them off the base, sending them down with their owners.

The pink soldier dashed over behind a nearby wall upon completing the task. He let out a small pant and brought his hand up to the side of his helmet, touching the built-in radio set. "We good, Grif?"

Up on a nearby tower, Grif was crouched down, battle rifle in hand and scanning the area from his viewpoint. Behind him a few steps away was none other than Caboose, his assault rifle hanging loosely and his helmet snapped firmly into place. He was staring at the view around him, acting surprisingly quiet.

"You're good, Donut," replied Grif. "But be careful. This tower is good for overwatch and overhead reconnaissance, but I still can't see the whole base. I’m not equipped to help provide fire support of any kind."

"I just need you to make sure you and Caboose are in a safe position and ready for if or when we have to move out." Donut started walking towards a nearby ledge. His walking soon became a full-on sprint and soon enough he jumped over the edge. The pink soldier fell and landed on top of another guard, crushing the Insurrectionist with the weight of his armor. Stepping off the crumpled body, Donut dashed across the walkway and into a nearby building.

Meanwhile, Caboose continued to stare out into space and Grif continued to scan the base from his vantage point. It was so weird hearing Donut talk this way, taking a mission seriously for once in his life. Usually he tried to lift everyone’s mood by trying to look on the bright side of things, be the team’s cheerleader, with much more emphasis on the ‘cheer’. Maybe his time with Pink Team had finally knocked some sense in his rather naïve and cheery personality.

The Blue turned around and started staring with wonder at his comrade, not so much the orange soldier himself, but what was on his back.

"Hey, Grif?" asked the lumbering Blue.

Grif turned his head slightly right and watched Caboose from the corner of his eye. "Yes Caboose?"

"What's that thing on your back again?"

"I told you, it's going to be a surprise." He referred to the large object magnetized to his back. It had the makings of a heavy weapon, with a large body and a handle on top of the barrel. Where there should have been a hammer and firing mechanism was instead replaced with a wheel-shaped structure with several hollow marks and a trigger on it. Right below it, instead of a grip and trigger, was a large, menacing-looking blade that curved around to the back of the gun at a point.

"Ooh, I like surprises." Caboose turned away from the Red and went back to looking up into the air, staring at the twinkling stars that had filled the night sky.

While that was happening, Donut dashed into a nearby security center which had a great number of computers and terminals placed in the room in a similar fashion to an office building as well multiple guards standing by, about six or seven of them. Each of them stood around nonchalantly, some with weapons in their hands, some leaning against the machinery, and others seated on four-legged chairs.

Donut snuck around the perimeter of the room, carefully trying to not catch the attention of its occupants. He moved swiftly towards the opposite corner of the room from the edge of the wall without making so much as a sound, placing his feet in positions that made minimal noise. The fact that there were modules blocking his view of them and the overhead vents were churning at a decently loud volume also helped. All the parts needed for someone who needed to have both speed and stealth.

After sneaking past the cluster of Insurrectionists, the pink infiltrator turned right towards another set of terminals. The flashing-blue computers were lined against the wall to his right, each screen filled with scans and data layouts. Donut walked towards the center computer, its own screen flickering with blue light, words and icons printed across the screen. He reached down to the side of his armor and pulled out a small silver card. A closer look at the card would reveal that it was a portable data chip, visible with etched-in codes and the Freelancer symbol stamped across it.

Donut placed the card into a slot located on the computer. It slid smoothly into place and the machine beeped positively. A loading bar appeared on screen and began to fill up.

Suddenly, the soldier's radio flared with activity. " _Donut, I've got movement near your position_ ," crackled Grif's voice.

"It must be one of the guards in the next room," responded Donut, continued to check the status of the download.

" _No, Donut, it's not them. It's coming from the door behind you_."

The pink soldier reached for a silenced magnum on his thigh. The pistol slipped easily from the magnetic lock and Donut snapped 180 degrees behind him, bringing up the sight of his weapon directly in front of him.

To his surprise, an unarmed guard stood several feet ahead of him. Behind the guard a metal door slid closed. In the guard's hands were not weapons, but a number of MREs, no doubt for the rebel's comrades in the next room.

"Aw, are those for me?" asked Donut in a sweet tone, continuing to aim his sight at the Insurrectionist.

The guard didn't answer the question, but instead mumbled to himself, "Oh shit. I knew I shouldn't have gone to get the food." He bolted his head quickly to his right, noticing that there was a large red alarm button on a nearby support beam.

The Insurrectionist looked back at the Red in front of him. "Try it and die," hissed Donut.

Literally disobeying the order, the guard began moving towards the button. Only a few milliseconds into the action, Donut immediately squeezed the trigger and shot the magnum at the rebel. His shot penetrated, going right through the guard's throat. Blood splattered out behind him and his body continued to fly towards the button.

"Oh shit," realized Donut, immediately turning back to the terminal loading the information. The screen read '100%: Upload Complete' on it. He pulled the data card from its holding and began sprinting toward the door the guard had come through. "Grif, move. Right now."

"Wait, why?" asked the orange soldier. Almost as if on cue, the body of the dead guard hit the button and alarms started ringing across the whole station. Sirens blared to life and red lights started flashing across the whole station. From Grif's view, he saw guards all across the station rushing from their spots, following lockdown procedures.

Grif looked over to the Blue that was standing with him. "Caboose, let's go," he barked.

"Okay," said the lumbering idiot. Caboose turned, magnetized his assault rifle to his back, and jumped off the ledge Grif was standing closest to. He landed to find two guards standing at attention side-by-side, their backs facing him. The Blue stepped forward and brought his hands next to the outsides of both soldiers in a manner that looked like a sandwich, with Caboose's hands as the bread and the Insurrectionists' heads as the meat and condiments. Appearing effortlessly, the simulation trooper grabbed the sides of the helmets and cracked them harshly against each other, rendering them unconscious.

Grif followed suit, landing right behind his teammate. "Donut," he radioed, "get to the helipad for extraction. We'll meet you there." He started sprinting forward, swapping his battle rifle with the heavy weapon on his back.

In a separate part of the facility, the pink soldier continued sprinting down the catwalk. While Donut was doing so he snapped the easily-detachable silencer off of the magnum and brought his left hand up to the side of his helmet. "Roger, Grif. Give me a few seconds."

Donut immediately jumped off a nearby ledge and landed on top of a pair of unsuspecting rebels, his boots digging into their backs. The men fell to the floor with a crunch and the Red looked to up in front of him. A trio of guards had noticed his entrance and brought their rifles up with panic.

By the time the men had started firing at the intruder he had already taken cover behind a large support beam. Their bullets bounced against the steel, causing loud chimes to resonate across the platform. Rather than waste time by engaging in the firefight, Donut instead reached for his belt and pulled out a Covenant plasma grenade. He thumbed the activation button and threw it among the group. The rebels had little time to realize what was thrown at them before a bright blue explosion engulfed them.

Finished with his engagement, Donut turned right and continued running across the catwalk that led to the facility's helipad. He reloaded his pistol as he got to a three-way intersection. He turned right and continued on. But he noticed, a little too late, that there were rebels right behind him and he wouldn't be able to get to cover or return fire.

In the nick of time, Grif jumped down from a nearby balcony. He had the strange heavy weapon, a Covenant Brute Shot, the one directly taken from the Meta all those years ago, in his hands and fired what appeared to be four large rounds at the oncoming defenders while still in midair.

But instead of impacting and tearing, as most people would predict, the so-called 'rounds' exploded upon hitting their targets, for they were not extremely large bullets, but impact-reactive grenades. Two of the eight Insurrectionists explodes into red mists from the direct impact of said explosives. Another four that were there were flown into the air as the grenades detonated.

Grif landed on the walkway Donut was on and rolled forwards. Just behind him, Caboose jumped into the fray, blasting away at more guards that were appearing just around the corner with his assault rifle. As the orange soldier completed his role, he brought the blade on his weapon up on a seventh soldier and sliced it in an upward arc. The massive blade cut right through his opponent's chestplate and soldier flew backwards. Grif brought his weapon down on the eighth guard, slamming the man to the floor.

The pink Red picked up movement from just beyond his vision on his built-in motion sensor. Knowing he wouldn't have enough time to reload, he quickly drew a second magnum from his left hip. He whipped the pistol around to his left and shot another three guards in the face with it.

Donut brought both of his pistols up and started blasting away at more guards as they came. Caboose and Grif had also started firing at the defenders that continued to approach their position. The pink soldier killed four more enemies in a frenzy of sweat and blood while the Blue swept his rifle across the walkway and killed three of the oncoming guards, bullets spraying and penetrating flesh all around. Grif continued his punishing assault, shooting the last of the guards with two more grenades.

A spray of sniper rounds flew around the trio and they ducked behind a pair of support pillars. "Snipers," called Donut.

Grif peeked his head out quickly. From the looks of it, there were about five or six of them at the top of a balcony. Below that balcony there was a giant sealed door and behind that there would be the helipad they needed to get to. He quickly marked their locations before bringing his helmet back out of sight as another flurry of sniper rounds whizzed past them.

"Targets spotted. Guys, go on my mark," said Grif. Donut nodded and, behind the orange grenadier, Caboose did likewise. The three of them reloaded their weapons, Donut bringing his pistols down to his thighs where more clips were ready to be loaded into place, Caboose switching out his spent 32-round magazine for a fresh one, and Grif placing a new string of explosives into his launcher through the top hatch.

"Now!" he ordered. Upon giving the command the three former simulation troopers sprinted around the pillars and advanced across the catwalk towards the steel door. As they did the snipers continued to rain fire on them. The troopers jumped, ducked, twisted, and turned around the bullets and continued to advance, their hearts pounding in their ears as they used all the adrenaline they could muster to throw off their opponents’ aims. Not once did they get hit by the lethal anti-materiel fire.

In less than ten seconds the three attackers had made it to the door, and underneath the snipers' balcony. Donut brought his pistols up and shot at the guards that dared to look below them, which, in that case, was all of them. They fell down, some of them hitting the catwalk the three armored warriors were standing on before tumbling to the icy waters far below.

Grif and Donut had their backs to the door while Caboose faced the steel entrance. The pink trooper saw another group of soldiers advancing from behind them. "Caboose, get the door," commanded the pink soldier. He holstered one of his pistols briefly and pulled out another plasma grenade.

"Okay," said the large Blue soldier. He place his rifle on his back again and, with as much force as he could muster, Caboose charged at the door. Grif fired the remaining four grenades at the approaching group and sent the rebels flying, instantly killing them. Donut followed up with his own explosive, tossing the grenade and ensuring their pursuers truly were dead.

Caboose smashed his way through the reinforced portal, bringing up his assault rifle at another group of approaching enemies. The Reds needed no further prompting before following him.

The three of them charged forward, spraying bullets and explosives before them. Four of the rebels fell to the furious assault and the attackers got within melee distance.

Donut jumped ahead of them and fired the pistol in his left hand, killing two more guards. Immediately following that Grif sliced his gun at the next closest guard. The blade rammed into the rebel's chestplate, sending him rolling back. Upon completing the maneuver, Caboose jumped in front of them and crouched. He pulled the trigger of his assault rifle once more and swept it across the catwalk, killing three more defenders.

In one final rush, Grif sprinted ahead of his teammates and fired all six of his grenades into the remainder of the squad while consistently keeping his pace, blowing them all to pieces. The two other members of his team kept up.

They reached the helipad and stood on top of the giant white 'H'. The troopers reloaded their weapons as quickly as they could and looked up.

Apparently, going to the helipad hadn't been such a great idea. In their haste, they had neglected to see all of the other Insurrectionists in the facility setting up defensive positions in the catwalks around said pad. Instead they had been focused on the groups only immediately in their path. On top of three balconies that stood around and above the landing point were multiple squads of guards. They had their weapons raised at them: shotguns, battle rifles, assault rifles, sub-machine guns, and even a few Designated Marksman Rifles.

"Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me," complained Grif. The situation had turned sour just like that. Now that they had made it to the helipad, they had become completely surrounded. They had a disadvantage in position, numbers, and tactical superiority, plus no ability to gain any leverage whatsoever through skill or device of any kind. Practically almost all of the guards had arrived at their location and were aiming their guns directly at the intruders who were, in this case, them. They were trapped.

The team stood in their spots as they assessed their surroundings. After careful analysis, Donut spoke up. "I don't know about you guys, but I think we pretty much screwed ourselves."

"Yeah, looks that way," replied Grif, attempting to hide his panic behind cold indifference with little success.

"I've got an idea," said Caboose. "How about we ask them nicely to not kill us. That way we won't have to shoot them and they won't have to shoot us."

"Caboose," answered his orange teammate, "that will work about as well as asking them to become friends with you after you killed their friends."

The Blue made a startled gasp. "How did you know I would try that next?" he gawked.

"Hey guys," interrupted Donut, "I don't think now is a good time to discuss this sort of thing. We've got bigger issues."

Up on the center balcony, a steel-grey and crimson-colored ODST with bandoliers of grenades and rifle bullets across his chest, arms, and thighs. He was manning a machinegun turret, all three barrels pointed towards them. This was, presumably, the commander of the facility. There were at least a dozen guards flanking him, their weapons also trained on the men on the landing pad.

"Attention, UNSC assholes," called out the ODST. The three troopers turned to face the one who spoke to them. "Stand down, you're surrounded." He had a somewhat grouchy, sneered tone in his voice that helped emphasize his threats. He sounded almost like a boss at work that demanded a lot from his employees and respected none of them.

Grif scanned his enemies, attempting to come up with some sort of plan. Each and every one of them looked ready to kill upon command, a steely gaze that spoke of hatred emanating in their eyes. Except for one. This trooper seemed to have a more lax pose than the rest, eyeing them with a blank express. He couldn't see that one's eyes.

"Drop your weapons and give us the data you stole," continued the leader. "You can do that or suffer for your insolence. Your choice."

Grif looked closer as the odd trooper as she pulled out what looked like a demolition switch. His pupils dilated as the trooper thumbed the trigger. The balconies around them exploded and the trooper jumped. Upon further inspection, the Insurrectionist actually looked like a Spartan, and a female one at that. She jumped off the falling balcony and landed among the simulation troopers. Yes, it was definitely a female, judging by the thinner, lither body and the way the figure landed. 'She' wore a set of MJOLNIR armor Grif hadn't seen very often, but knew which variant it was, composed of a set of Recon-pattern shoulder pads and chestplate. Her helmet looked to be of Rogue type, part of the armor covering what was usually the lower half of the visor and the rest of the visor slit shaped to the point where the user almost looked angry. Her armor shimmered from snow white and red to cyan blue with white highlights, only mildly lighter than Tucker's blue armor.

The three soldiers stared at the one that may have just potentially just saved their lives. "Holy shit!" said Grif.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Donut.

"It's a Freelancer!" stated Caboose, pointing at the blue figure with his right hand.

"A Freelancer? What's he doing here?" asked the pink soldier, apparently unaware that their savior was most likely a woman.

"Who cares," replied Grif. "Let's help _her_ out."

The light-blue woman sprang at the guards that had dropped from the other platforms and landed on the helipad. In sequential order, she started by punching the nearest guard in the face with her left hand, then moved to two more guards and roundhouse-kicked them off to the side. The Freelancer then flipped backwards before landing in between two more Insurrectionists. They were immediately hit by her forearms. Upon completing the maneuvers, she dashed over to her right and punched another pair of guards in their faces as they tried to bring their shotguns up to shoot her.

Realizing that things had suddenly just gotten hairy, Donut ran at the nearest group of guards who were trying to stand back up after the attack. Grif and Caboose followed suit, bringing their weapons to bear against the now-scattered Insurrectionist forces.

In all his years of fighting, Grif had never been through fighting as blood-pumping as this. Yes, he had dashed through squad upon squad of rebel forces before, but it had always been with Simmons and they had always had a warthog or some sort of backup unit with them and the enemies were always less numerous than this. This was perhaps the first time where he had to do this truly on his own, even with his teammates by his side. This was the first time he had been, in a sense, independent. He would probably be in more fights like this in the near future, but, for the moment, this was a whole new experience for him.

As the four troopers continued to slash, blast, and beat their way through the Insurrectionists, the ODST commander inched his way over to a fallen heavy machinegun turret. He stood, lifting the large weapon system off the ground and squeezed the trigger.

Grif had just finished pulling the body of another Insurrectionist off the end of his alien grenade launcher when he noticed that the grey-and-red trooper had begun to spin the barrels of the turret.

He looked over to where the barrels where pointing. Near the center of the helipad, Caboose had started shooting wildly with his assault rifle at a team of guardsmen.  
Without putting much thought into it, Grif ran at his teammate, arms spread. He shouted, "Caboose, look out!" The Blue turned to look for the source of the noise, but not before being tackled to the ground by his orange comrade.

A fraction of a second later, the machinegun began spitting out bullets at the area Caboose had only just recently vacated. In a sweeping arc, the ODST turned his gun left and right, trying to catch at least one of the attackers with his flurry of rounds.

When the arc came around to the woman, instead of ducking down or running away, she flipped backwards several times until she was a good thirty yards further away from the turret. She quickly reached down to her thigh with her right hand and pulled out what appeared to a standard-issue magnum, but with a large, strangely-shaped muzzle on the front of it.

The light-blue armored soldier aimed the oddly-shaped pistol at the turret, just above the machinegun's own sight to be exact. She pulled the trigger and a four-pronged grapple hook shot out of the end of the gun, a long, black wire attached to it, connecting the hook to the muzzle.

The hook latched itself onto the top of the heavy armament with ease. The ODST looked it strangely, pausing at the placement of the grapple. With a tug, the woman pulled back with two hands on the grapple gun and the turret was yanked out of his hands. She gripped the grapple gun in two hands and swung around, making the turret gun fly through the air. With a sharp crack, the weapon slammed down onto the ODST. From what they could see, the Drop Trooper was dead, his armor cracked in multiple spots, blood oozing out, and his limbs sprawled out at unnatural angles.

In short order Donut, Caboose, and Grif formed up on the edge of the helipad where the ODST had just died. Even as they did so, although the majority of the Insurrectionists had been dealt with, more guards continued to approach them from the catwalk connected to the helipad, their weapons blasting out sporadically at the regrouping hostiles. It seemed they had come to finish what their comrades had started.

Grif brought his hand up to the side of his helmet and activated his radio. "Wash, this is Grif. Come in, Wash," he shouted, trying to hear himself over the consistent shooting. "The data is secure and we need immediate evac, over."

However, instead of the male Freelancer, a female voice replied. "Solid copy, Grif. This is Four-Seven-Niner, approaching your location with evac transport, over."

Off to the group's left, a pelican could be seen flying towards them. “Stand by for danger close,” the radio crackled once more. Nearly half-a-second later, missiles streaks were seen approaching at high velocity.

It took the missiles only two seconds to get to their destination. In a cacophony of explosions, the missiles struck the front of the helipad and exploded, wiping out at least a dozen guards instantly. The catwalks around them were torn and sundered by the warheads, destabilizing the platform.

The pelican swooped in at the rear of the deck and pointed its rear at them. Its ramp opened up and gracefully touched the edge of the deck. Caboose and Donut were the first ones to enter, rushing to find their seats and prepare for takeoff. Grif enter in next, placing his heavy weapon on an empty seat.

He turned around, feeling as if he had forgotten something. Back on the deck, the woman that had joined the fight only two minutes ago was beating down a pair of guards with her bare fists. "Come on," he shouted, motioning towards himself.

The light-blue Freelancer faced him and began sprinting as fast as she could at the pelican's rear exit. The woman made it to the far side of the pad and jumped in through the ship's back. She rolled on through to the hatch leading to the cockpit and stopped; her left leg kneeled down and left hand on the floor of the ship.

The transport's hatch began to close and Caboose looked outside of the hatch one last time before they left. "Bye people we stole this data from!" he exclaimed happily, waving his hand back and forth. His teammates just ignored him, Donut pulling down the safety harness above his head, Grif moving to take the copilot's seat at the front of the pelican, and the mystery woman taking her own seat opposite Caboose and Donut.

As the pelican flew away from the facility, the pilot called to Grif as he climbed into the seat at the back of the cockpit. "Are the charges set?" the pilot asked. Grif recognized the voice as being the woman's that responded to his distress call.

"Affirmative," he replied. The orange soldier reached down to his hip and pulled out a detonator with one large red button. "Preparing to blow charges on my mark."

Grif hovered his thumb over the button. All it would take was one action, one push, to destroy dozens upon dozens of tons of steel and electronics. It was all in his grasp, the power to destroy what needed to be destroyed. It wasn't entirely necessary, but their tracks would need to be covered. They needed to make sure no one, especially the Director, would get any ideas and try to evade their grasp or slow them down.

Exhaling slowly, the Red uttered a single word. "Mark." He pushed down on the button. Although no one could hear it, everyone in the back looked behind the ship as the oil-rig-like facility exploded in a plume of white and yellow light, completely engulfing the skeletal structure.

The group remained silent as the ship began to climb the atmosphere. The pelican fell quiet and stayed like that for several minutes as they sped up into space and onward to the All or Nothing.

The woman Freelancer, the unknown, radioed to the pilot, "It's good to see you again, Four-Seven-Niner."

Although she wanted to ask so many things right then, she only needed to say one thing. "It's good to see you too, Agent Carolina."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering, this chapter was made in 2012, and I'm not really proud of this one because it lacks originality. But it helps with overall story flow more than you would believe. Trust me on that one.


	8. We Are Number One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif, Caboose, and Donut have successfully retrieved the intel they sought and were extracted from the facility no problem, along with an unexpected guest. She has the potential to become a valuable asset to the team, as well an issue...

Location: Modified D77H-TCI Pelican Dropship, Designation ‘Four-Seven Niner’, Exiting Lyria Atmosphere

Shipboard Time: 2230 Hours

Date: June 17, 2557

The pelican continued on its course, flying up high above the Terran-like continents and serene oceans like a fast-moving bird of prey. With engines powered to move the ship at an optimal 300 miles per hour, the ship broke the planet's atmosphere about fifteen minutes after leaving the Insurrectionist facility. After ten more minutes of being in total vacuum, the ship came within sight of the All or Nothing, its rockets still flaring as it strained against Lyria's gravity well.

All the while, the team's two 'rookies', Caboose and Donut, sat silently in the transport's troop bay, their visors fixed on the third passenger sitting across from them. The woman that had joined them was also quiet, her head pointed in the left, in the direction of the rear exit.

Although he could never tell what his teammate was thinking, Donut had plenty of questions running through his head about the woman as it stood. In fact, questions have been cycling through his head about the new passenger ever since he had time to think about her. Who was this stranger that decided to join them this late in the battle? What was she doing here? Was anyone aware that she was going to be with them? What would Sarge think? What would the team's reaction be?

Meanwhile, at the pelican's forward section, Grif had his eyes on the copilot's monitor. Four-Seven-Niner had her helmet set in place, her focus completely set on the frigate that was growing in size in front of them every passing second.

Deciding that they were within radio distance, Four-Seven-Niner brought her right hand over to a set of rectangular buttons that were set up in a grid-like pattern. Extending a finger, she pressed one of the buttons and leaned over to the comms unit. "Command, this is Four-Seven-Niner requesting clearance to land, over."

The speaker crackled to life and a man's voice came out. " _Roger, Four-Seven-Niner. You are clear to land in the primary hangar bay, over_."

"I copy, Command. Making my approach now." The speaker died down and the pilot removed her hand from the radio controls. She placed her hand back on the right joystick and began smoothly moving the ship into the hangar bay located at the lower back end of the ship.

Grif was sitting in the seat behind her, his eyes fixed on the screen before him. On the screen footage from the camera in the troop bay was being fed live to him. There, he could see his friends resting after the hard-fought battle.

But it wasn't them the orange grenadier was focused on. Instead, he was focused on the person sitting across from them; the light-blue one Four-Seven-Niner had called 'Agent Carolina.'

Grif sat back in his seat, reviewing the events that had just recently happened to them in his head. Okay, he thought, we infiltrated the station approximately forty-five minutes ago. Caboose and I set charges across the facility while Donut did some recon. Caboose and I took overwatch when Donut found a terminal where he could download information from the Insurrectionists' archives.

The alarm went off when Donut finished the download and we regrouped. We fought our way to the helipad and… that's when she showed up. I don't know how she did it, but she practically crippled the Insurrectionist forces and saved our lives.

It doesn't make sense, though. How did she get here, with them? Wash was certain that only the three of them had made the drop, so she surely didn't come in with them. And she couldn't have been deployed on the planet ahead of time.

Or could she? Grif thought back to the time when had first run into the Freelancer/Recovery Agent. A cold, merciless, indoctrinated, and secretive soldier that did what needed to be done to get the job done, no matter the costs. Ever since the beginning, Wash had always been one to hold information from them, important, possibly dangerous information. If so, then could the Freelancer be holding back more information from them, just like last time?

The orange soldier touched his radio set, trying to get a connection to Agent Washington before they landed. If there was someone who should know that a new arrival was joining them, it should be him. As far as Grif was aware, the Freelancer was, at least partially, leading and commanding them like an officer would to his soldiers.

His radio chimed in approval and Grif began. "Wash, you there?"

The Freelancer responded, " _Yeah, I'm here. What do you need_?"

"I need to tell you something."

" _What do you need to tell me_?" he questioned.

Grif paused, trying to gather his thoughts in a way that made a relevant amount of sense. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "We're on our way back, but there's someone else here with us."

" _Someone besides you, Caboose, and Donut?_ "

"Yeah. I thought I should let you know. You might want to get the guys down to the hangar to meet their new arrival."

Strangely, there was a lack of surprise in his voice as he continued. " _Sure thing, Grif. Most of them are already there and the rest are on their way_." The radio fell silent and Grif removed his finger. He looked back at the screen. Interested, he zoomed the camera in on the agent.

He looked over his module at the pilot, caution and curiosity in his mind. Mostly caution if he was being honest. If he was going to work with their new arrival he should try to find out a little more about her. It was never a good idea to go into battle if he didn't know the strengths and weaknesses of his teammates. At least that’s what Simmons had always told him. He may not be a commander or any sort of leader, but he should still at least know them well enough to be able to predict what they would do. To a certain degree.

"Hey, soldier," snapped Four-Seven-Niner.

Grif looked over the console to the pilot. "What?" he asked.

"Head's up. We're coming around to the hangar now."

"Roger," he replied. Immediately, the ship began reduce its speed. In order to properly land, the ship had to be at a slow cruising speed to prevent it from crashing into the hangar. Incidences where small transports or slower ships have crashed into the backs of hangars were not unheard of. As a matter of fact, in the early days of space exploration, ships were known to crash in the backs of hangars on a sporadic but fairly common basis because of high speeds. This is what led to the development of entering and exiting ship hangar procedures.

"Alright," he announced, "coming up on the hangar bay now."

* * *

Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Primary Hangar Bay, Lyria Low Orbit

Shipboard Time: 2235 Hours

Date: June 17, 2557

Church was surprised, very, very surprised. The last thing he expected was Caboose, Grif, and Donut to come back from this mission alive and, more importantly, _in one piece_. It seemed to him that luck, or maybe it was fate, had smiled upon him and his teammates once again, whether they deserved it or not. Despite the near-disastrous situations they seemed to constantly get themselves into, they always manage to somehow find a way out, whether by a well-timed move or just pure dumb luck. In his personal opinion, it was the latter.

The cobalt Sim trooper stood in near the back end of the hangar, hands hanging loosely against his side, while the rest of the Reds and Blues were entering from the rear of the hangar.

Church looked over to the arriving members. The first ones to come through the open doorway were Sarge, with Wash, Lopez, and Doc at his side, conversing on matters that the Blue had no interest in.

Behind them, Simmons walked in while simultaneously talking to Tucker and Junior, most likely about what they've been doing in the past four years or about Junior in general, especially since Junior wasn't what most people called a 'normal' Sangheili.

And, marching in behind everyone else was Tex, unarmed except for the pistol she always had at her side regardless of the circumstance and her helmet sealed over her head. Her posture, like everyone else's, suggested she was calm, at ease.

Splitting off from the rest of other groups, the black-armored soldier moved to join him. Smiling under his helmet, Church let out a sigh. "Having a problem with the others, Tex?" he joked, a reminder of her former animosity with the Reds back in Blood Gulch.

Pausing for half-a-second, Tex calmly replied, "Not really one for group gabbing, if you know what I mean."

Church let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I know what you mean. You never really have been a team player. You've always been bitch, cold-hearted, well, whatever passes for your heart."

Though he couldn’t see it, she narrowed her eyes at him. She muttered, "Church, stop it with those robot body jokes. We have real bodies now."

Church didn't need to be reminded. Their bodies were biological, not robotic, grown in amniotic tubes as opposed to being constructed from a factory, like the ones they had used before. Still very heavily in the prototype stage, synthetic bodies were designed for the full use of artificial intelligences such as themselves as a means to convert an AI to a human rather than letting them suffer from rampancy. It was considered one of the many marvels of human science, creating these bodies, these vessels. It was also considered a humane way to treat such artificial constructs for their hard work and dedication to humanity. However, just like normal humans, vessels grew and aged. The bodies were capable of hurting and scarring, of feeling in the way that a normal person feels, or so the record states. On the upside, for A.I.s at least, the human-like machines could experience what it was like to be human and therefore analyze and further understand the feelings of living beings. On the downside, A.I. could take more physical actions, possibly consequential actions. Because of this, the production of creating said bodies was heavily restricted and closely guarded.

Apparently, Project Freelancer was one of those groups that had somehow found access to the tech. Director Leonard Church, former head of Project Freelancer, had found the secrets to making such vessels, adding to the list of illegal activities he could accomplish. And use those secrets he did, not for humanity, not for the UNSC, not even for Project Freelancer, but for his own self-interest. He would try to utilize this technology to recreate his long lost love, Allison. Before he could do that, though, he would need to create someone who could recreate the image of her, someone who could remember her more clearly. Little did anyone know that that one someone would be the Alpha, a much younger version of the Director, a version that would have remembered Allison when she was still alive.

Church smiled and looked over at Tex. If this was the Allison that the Alpha had remembered, that the Director had remembered, then he considered himself one lucky guy. "I know," he said, "I was just joking."

"Well it's not a good one," the black-armored Freelancer continued, displeasure in her tone.

Before Church could continue teasing, a deafening roar filled the hangar. The pair turned their attention over to the pelican as it slowly flew glided into the hangar. Swiftly, the transport landed in a vacated area of the hangar floor, landing gears extended and its rear facing them. The ship's troop hatch opened up and Donut and Caboose stumbled out.

Going no more than two steps from the ramp, the two rookies dropped to the floor. "Ow," groaned the pink soldier in discomfort.

"I thought the flight was supposed to be comfortable," whined Caboose.

"It would have been," echoed Four-Seven-Niner's voice from the transport interior, "if you two hadn't gotten out of your seats before we completely landed."

"You might as well forget it, lady," came Grif's voice, also inside the ship. "They're not gonna follow directions anyway."

"Hey Grif!" bellowed Sarge as he, Doc, and Lopez approached the two downed soldiers. "Get yer keester out here!"

"Hold on, Sarge," replied the orange trooper. "I gotta power down a few things first." The transport steadily powered down, its engines and the noise with it quieting.

Grif stepped out of the ship, followed by a woman in a pilot suit. Grif stepped over to help his comrades up while the pilot moved to check on the ship.

But as they moved out of the way, a fourth person stepped out from behind the rest of them, a woman, according to Church, in bright blue armor. She seemed familiar somehow, familiar in a way that he didn't like.

"Wait a minute," hissed Church. Scanning the woman from head to toe, a name popped right into his head as he got a good look at her fearsome Rogue helmet.

"Oh crap." A sudden and reverberating revelation had just hit him, one that filled him with dread. _Agent Carolina_.

The room fell ominously quiet as the familiarity struck Church like a thunderbolt, a tension he hadn’t been familiar with in ages returning tenfold as the memories came flooding back, the dark days of Project Freelancer, of Agent Carolina and Director Church at the helm of all of their malicious acts, of all the question and uncertainty that plagued the Project’s existence. The blue Freelancer stopped in her track and began staring in his direction. Church turned his head to Tex and noticed that she was staring back at her, hands balled into fists. He could feel, more than see, the sheer anger radiating from her very being. It was terrifying. " _You_ ," hissed the black Freelancer, a venom in her voice he'd never heard before.

Time seemed to slow as the two Freelancers' eyes locked, hatred beginning to show in both of the women. The cobalt soldier noticed that everyone, even Caboose and Donut, was looking at the silent confrontation that was unfolding in front of them. He felt electricity in the air from the sheer fury emanating from both women.

Church looked at his girlfriend dreadfully. Out of all other possibilities, it just had to be Agent Carolina that would have to be the big surprise walking off the ship. If there was one thing he knew about Tex and Carolina, it was about their intertwined pasts and the bad blood that passed between them in the days before Blood Gulch, in the days of Project Freelancer.

The tension did not last long. Before anyone else could stop them, the two Freelancers broke into full on sprint, charging at each other with as much speed as they could muster. In but a few heartbeats, the females had already nearly made it to the center of the hangar. To add to the effect, the women had also started crying out like banshees, rage filling their voices.

Just as Church began to move, the two Freelancers clashed, each throwing out a hammering blow. Almost like they were mirroring each other's movements, the women's fists found their targets, each striking their opponent's chest with a resounding smash of synthetic material and muscle against titanium plate.

Surprisingly, the women both flew off their feet and flipped backwards from the force that hit each of them. Tex gracefully landed on her feet and twisted to face Carolina once more. The blue Freelancer had done the exact same thing as her, which came at another surprise to Church. They seemed to almost mirror each other.

Without stopping, the Freelancers went at each other again, this time advancing to the middle of the hangar at a noticeably slower pace so they could properly meet their foe. They came to within melee distance and began attacking each other again.

Prompted to attack first, Carolina began the battle by throwing out a left jab at Tex's head. Being as quick-witted as she was, the black Freelancer brought her right arm up and moved her opponent's arm out of the way.

Carolina didn't stop, however, and threw out her right fist at her enemy's breastplate. Just like the previous attack, Tex brought her left arm out swiped the attack out of the way.

Trying to seize an advantage, the black Freelancer kicked out with her right leg and Carolina jumped backwards. As soon as she did, Tex began her set of counter attacks, first by throwing out a right hook at the blue Freelancer, then going in with a left punch aimed at the body of the cyan supersoldier in front of her before finishing with a third attack with her right hand. Carolina successively blocked each and every one of the counterattacks and, after blocking the most previous punch, reached out with both hands and grabbed Tex's breastplate.

With a grunt of effort, the light-blue Freelancer lifted Tex off her feet and threw her overhead. While she was doing that, however, the black Freelancer mirrored her opponent and placed her hands firmly on the breastplate, on the collar and waistline of Carolina's torso, to be exact. Tex landed on the other side of the other Freelancer's completely upright, hands still gripped to the breastplate.

Breaking his concentration from the brawl that was taking place in front of him, Church looked over to the others in panic. If the women continue fighting like this they will kill each other, possibly trying to tear the ship apart whilst doing so.

"Wash, Tucker, Caboose," the former A.I. snapped to his teammates. They jerked their heads in his direction. "Help me with these two! Now!" Without waiting for a reply, Church rushed towards the fight. Washington and the other Blue members quickly followed suit, heading into the center of the large chamber.

By the time Church had started taking action the two had released each from their grapples and pushed each other backwards several feet. "It payback time, bitch!" shouted Tex, her body tense and ready to explode into action again.

"Time to return the favor, shadow!" countered Carolina, taking yet another aggressive fighting stance. Church felt heat radiating from her like a star. If she had been angry before, she was absolutely livid now. The two Freelancers immediately lunged at each other, ready to clobber each other to death again.

A flash of blue flew in between the two of them and the women stopped dead in their tracks. It seemed as if the force between the two of them had suddenly disappeared, like they'd hit an impenetrable, immovable wall.

Tex and Carolina froze in equal surprise and amazement as they found who had completely halted their attacks. In front of them, holding each of their fists in his own gauntlets, was Caboose. He stood firmly on the metal plating, his body stone-stiff and unmoving.

Although her opponent didn't know it, Tex had always figured that if anyone had the strength or stupidity to put an end to their fighting, it would be Caboose. Ever since she found out that the Blue moron could carry a bomb that even she couldn't raise from the ground, much less move even with enhanced super-strength, the Freelancer had always kept a close watch on him.

Without so much as giving a sign of effort, Caboose shoved the two women away from him. They stumbled backwards, bewildered at the sheer strength behind such a simple-minded sim trooper.

Before Tex could move in again and continue her fight with the other female, however, Church grabbed at her right arm and pulled backwards, trying to prevent her from attacking again. Meanwhile, Tucker and Washington had done the same with Carolina, grabbing both of her arms and trying to resist her push to the black Freelancer.

Tex looked over at her boyfriend, rage still coursing through every fiber of her being. "What are you doing?" she shouted. "Let me at that bitch so I can finish her off for good!"

"Tex, you need to calm down!" pleaded Church. He looked over at the other woman, trying to break free of her restraints before bringing his eyes back to her. "Carolina's not our enemy! The Director is!" Still, she wouldn't listen, apparently still swallowed into her hatred towards the new arrival.

Church sighed and placed his right hand on the side of her helmet. Gently, he turned her head to face his own and stared calmly into her eyes, or wherever her eyes were behind her visor. "Allison, please," he urged calmly, "stop this. We can work it out."

Apparently, his use of her name seemed to get her attention. Narrowing her eyes, she growled, "Give me one good reason why I should."

"Because she's our best shot at finding the Director. She knows him better than any of us, maybe even you or me. We need her to help us."

"We don't need her, Church. Do I have to remind you what she did to me, what she did to _you_? Or have you suddenly forgotten about that too?"

Of all things Church hadn't forgotten, one of those things was what the Director and Agent Carolina had done to him, the Alpha, the other A.I.s, and, most of all, what they did to Tex. Although he wasn't the Alpha, and he never would be, he still remembered everything the Alpha had remembered. Thanks to the UNSC and a Freelancer black box that was virtually immune to outside electronic disruption, Church could remember everything Alpha remembered firsthand, from the day he was created, to the days of Blood Gulch, and even to the point where the EMP was set off. Now the memories seemed to merge with him and he thought of the Alpha's memories as his own. The same had been with Tex, where she had been given the memories of Beta and could think of them as her own as well.

But it was the day that Tex had tried to rescue him that Church had remembered the most, among all other things, the day Tex, the meanest, coldest woman he had ever come to know, had tried to save him from the clutches of Project Freelancer. It was that day that Tex seemed to show that she cared for him, more than any other day.

And she had good reason to hate Carolina. When the Freelancer had tried to come in and save Church, Carolina was there to stop her, to stop her from rescuing her boyfriend, the AI, no, the man she loved more than anyone else. And it hadn't even started there. In the days where they had just met each other, it was Carolina that had always gotten in the way of her plans, the one that had tried to compete with her when she was just doing what she was told to do. She had nurtured a jealousy towards Tex simply because she was doing well. Though she had come out time and time again, Carolina always saw her as competition, a rival. Tex never saw her in the same way.

"I haven't forgotten, Tex," said Church, "but fighting the Director is more important than revenge. We have to stay focused on what will happen if we don't stop him."

The two of them looked at Carolina as she started calming her own rage, still strained against the pullback Tucker and Wash were giving.

"Carolina, calm down," ordered Washington. "Tex isn't the enemy. The Director is."

"Let go of me, Wash!" barked the blue Freelancer.

"Only if you calm down," he replied calmly. Seeing that hadn't affected her in the slightest, he continued, "Carolina, stand down." She continued to struggle to break free, his words falling on deaf ears. "Carolina, STOP!" he shouted.

That seemed to get her attention. She stopped attempting to escape Tucker and Wash's grasps. Instead, she opted to glare at him instead, remaining silent. Seeing that she had stopped, they let go. Tucker took a step back.

"Okay," said Wash, letting go of the angered woman and stepping in between and off to the side of the two Freelancers. "Looks like we have some things to discuss."

"First of all," said Tex and Carolina in unison, "what the hell is this bitch doing here?" Suddenly realizing they were both talking at the same time, they gave each other momentary glances before facing the grey-and-gold colored Freelancer again, pointing an index finger at each other. "What the hell is she doing here?" They both stared at each other again as they continued to talk in unison. "Hey, shut up. I'm talking here. No, I'm talking. Shut up and let me speak first. Shut up! I swear to God, I will fucking kill you if you don't stop."

"Ladies, ladies, calm down already," pleaded Tucker, raising his hands to the black and cyan Freelancers. The women glared at the aqua trooper and Tucker immediately clamped his mouth shut and took a step back.

"Look," continued the male Freelancer, "I can explain everything later. Right now we're all just tired and we should get some sleep. Okay?"

Simultaneously, they grumbled, "Okay."

"Okay." Wash turned his head to the energy swordsman. "Tucker, take Carolina up to her quarters."

"But she doesn't have a room," pointed out Tucker. "How am I supposed to get her there if she doesn't have one? Unless you want to pair her with me. Bow-chicka-bow-wow."

Wash visibly shuddered at the mere thought of her in Tucker’s room. He tried not to dwell on it further. "Sheila will have made living arrangements for her by now. Just head up to our rooms."

Tucker chuckled under his helmet. "Heh-heh, our rooms. Bow-chicka-bow-wow."

"That one wasn't even funny, Tucker," snapped Church. "Now get going."

"Alright," replied the aqua soldier bluntly before turning to and leaving for one of the hangar's elevators. Carolina fell in step behind the trooper, easily keeping pace with him. The others, except for Church, Wash, and Tex, followed suit and left the hangar. Washington chose not to order Grif, Donut, and Caboose up to the bridge for a debriefing. That could wait until tomorrow.

As soon as the two light-blue figures left, Tex stepped up to the grey Agent. "Did you know about this, that she was going to be here?"

"Unfortunately, yes," replied Wash.

"When were you going to tell us that she was coming with us?" demanded Church.

"I was supposed to tell you both about this before she got here. But I was afraid you were going to react negatively towards it. So I chose not to."

"Well, look at how well that went," the former AI replied. "We reacted spectacularly negatively instead."

"I know." Wash sighed. "Look, I promise I'll explain everything to you tomorrow. Now go get some sleep. "

"Fine," said Church and Tex. Without another word, the two Agents pivoted on their heels and swiftly exited the hangar.

"Finally," Wash said aloud, more to himself than anyone in particular. "Now I can go and get some sleep."

 _I just hope things don't get too much worse_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually one of the more fun chapters I've written so far. It first came to me when I wondered how Tex and Carolina would react if they ever saw each other again after the Mother of Invention crashed. Some authors chose the more peaceful route, where there was no fighting but still a lot of animosity between them. I chose a different approach.


	9. Sorting Out the Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Carolina has been successfully integrated into the team, albeit not flawlessly. With the data needed to find the Director still being analyzed, Carolina takes the time to gauge her new team, all the while being scrutinized herself. At the same time, Church and Tex spend some of their own time coming to terms with each other's feelings.

Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Mess Hall, Paris-Class Frigate

Shipboard Time: 0700 Hours

Date: June 18, 2557

First days are always the hardest. No matter what people say, the first days are always the hardest, for in those first days people need to get used to new routine, rewrite their agendas. If anyone goes to school, work, or even a club or social event, the first days are always the hardest to get used to. The first days as a team were no exception, especially for Tucker.

At a calm and leisurely pace, the swordsman stepped through the portal into the mess hall. Instead of having his usual combat armor Tucker wore a T-shirt that matched the color of his armor, khakis, and a pair of blue-and-grey gym shoes. It had been quite a while since he had worn any sort of civilian clothes, but they were more casual and comfortable, not to mention less threatening, than the MJOLNIR armor he had worn since Captain Flowers died.

The mess hall was, to a certain degree, like that of a high school cafeteria, with counters full of steaming hot food on one side of the room, stacks of trays lined right next to it, and row after row of tables and benches, plus multiple points from which people could enter and exit.

Tucker moved his eyes across the hall. There were very few occupants for the moment, only a few crew members, some marines and security guards, and, secluded from everyone else, were the Reds and Blues. Well, at least most of them. Tucker could see that they were all wearing casual civilian attire, each of them with their own armor colors on their shirts. He could easily see Junior and Simmons, Sarge and Grif, and…

…Church and Tex. Sitting across from each other, away from the others. Comfortably.

Tucker blinked, trying to see if he was imagining the scene he was looking upon. If there was one thing he didn’t want, it was to be imagining things, at not imagining the _wrong_ things.

 _Nope_ , he confirmed to himself, _not dreaming. They’re still there_. He watched the pair curiously, his eyes darting between them. From what he could tell, Church was discussing something with Tex, but not in a stern, heated voice like he usually did when around her. No, he was talking to her with a sense of serenity.

Tucker furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. From what he knew about Church, he had never seen or heard the cobalt trooper talk to her, or anyone for that matter, like that before. As a matter of fact, if there was one thing he knew, it was that Church always sounded angry when he was talking to people, especially Tex.

Why, then, he wondered, was it quite the opposite now? Why was Church talking to Tex as if she was a good friend of his? They couldn’t possibly be this friendly, not after all of these years. Tucker knew well enough that in the last several years, in the years of Blood Gulch, they had always acted in an at least somewhat hostile manner, especially when they were near each other. They had always been like two exes.

 _Two exes_. For some reason, the words seemed foreign to him now, which was quite the opposite considering all the jokes he made about his teammate’s relationship. Based on what he was seeing, they didn’t look like exes anymore.

Tucker looked back at the events over the several days he had been on the ship. Ever since he had set foot on the frigate and reunited with the former A.I.s he had noticed that they had spending quite a bit more time together than before, whether it was in a sparring session, target practice, combat simulation, or even when they were just walking around. Maybe, after four years of contact, with only each other for support, they had finally settled their differences and hooked up again.

However it was, however these two opposites had managed to come to this point, Tucker would know what was going on between the two of them soon enough. He always had tenacity for that sort of thing, whether finding out things accidentally or on purpose.

He felt his belly growl and brought his right hand up to his stomach. Tucker forgot he hadn’t eaten yet. _Okay_ , he thought, _first things first. Get food and then find out what’s going on between Church and Tex_.

Without think any more on the matter, Tucker swiped a silver tray off a nearby stack and moved his way over to the buffet line.

“Come on, Tex, this doesn’t have to be difficult.”

“I’m not the one who’s being difficult, Church. _She_ made it difficult by coming here in the first place.”

Church looked down and sighed before bringing himself to face the Freelancer. “Look, Carolina isn’t the one you should be blaming. She wasn’t the one who notified us that she was coming.”

“You’re suggesting that this was Wash’s fault,” Tex said bluntly. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, it was Wash’s fault.”

Tex glared at him from across the table, paying no mind to the tray of food in front of her. She was wearing skinny blue jeans and a black tank top, which revealed her thin but powerful arms. While out of her armor, the Freelancer kept her red hair nice and loose, never making it into or a ponytail, pigtails, or anything besides. She’d usually ball it all up when it came time to don the armor again, but other than that, she preferred to hang it loose. “I still say it’s her fault,” she continued.

Church sighed in defeat and shook his head. “Believe what you want.”

The duo sat there in silence, interrupted only by the chatter of marines and whirring of distant generators. Those not used to the sounds of a ship might have been spooked or at least slightly irritated, but Church had been on ships enough to not be the least bit bothered by the cacophony of noises.

“You know,” said the black-haired trooper, “this turned out to be just like the first time we broke up.”

Tex raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You remembered what happened, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “I had to break up with you because of the Project. The Director wouldn’t allow us to be together for fear of giving out information. I-”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” interrupted Church.

Tex gave him a confusing look. “Then what are you talking about?”

The Blue sighed deeply and stared into his girlfriend’s emerald-green eyes. “I’m talking about when you broke up with me back on Earth, when we were still in high school.”

The Freelancer sat in her spot, frozen in place by the sentence he said to her, an emotion of rage and a slight hint of angst etched on her flawless, beautiful face. Out of all the things she could have done, from reaching out to strangle him for mentioning the subject to walking away in anger, cursing and promising revenge for his actions, she did none of those. She just sat there, no reaction coming out of her. In Church’s mind, this was rather unusual of her. Normally she was one to react, usually in a violent, destructive manner that would leave most people flabbergasted and fearful of her, although that was not the case in a few exceptionally brave souls, including Church.

After several painfully long moments of silence, Tex gritted through her teeth, “I’m not going be having this conversation with you.”

“Yes, you are,” rebutted Church. Before she could say anything else, he quickly continued, “Tex, we’ve been living together for four years and have known each other _long_ before that. I think it’s about time we stopped holding secrets from each other.”

The red-haired woman narrowed her eyes at Church. She knew fully well what she was getting into but she also knew this conversation had to happen sooner or later. It had been too long, far too long, since he should have had this conversation with her. “What are you getting at, Leonard?” she asked.

“I want to know why you broke up with me that night. Why you just suddenly disappeared for several days before coming back to me, tears in your eyes, and then tried to leave again.”

Tex’s mind flashed back to their young, distant days on Earth, the days where she and Church were dating back in high school, back when there was no fighting, when there were no aliens, when there were no troubles. Those were the days, the days where Church and Tex had been friends, and enemies at the same time, the days where the only thing that mattered was whether they could keep their grades up and what laid in store ahead of them in their futures.

Of course, these memories weren’t, strictly speak, theirs. They’d actually originally belonged to the Director and Allison. One of the perks of being part of a Special Operations taskgroup like Delta Force was being able to access a brain scan of the original Allison, something even the Director of Project Freelancer couldn’t get a hold of. Instead, he had to rely on his own memories, which were flawed as all human minds were. Now that Tex had thoughts and memories that even he didn’t know, she became more and more defined as a person, more and more of a mystery. If either of them were being honest, it kinda rekindled their relationship, or at least was one of the reasons it had been. Yes, she was still practically the same Tex he knew, but now felt she was the Allison he’d truly remembered instead of just a shadow of the woman, like the difference between a faded painting and a high-resolution picture.

In the days when Church and Tex truly were human, when they were just known as Leonard and Allison, just two young souls among millions of others, those were the days when they really came together. Their first interaction went about as well as anyone expected, with Church cussing out Tex and demanding to know who she was. From there it seemed he wouldn’t stop seeing her no matter how what, in the neighborhood or at school. He had grown… used to her after a while.

For Tex, that was the time that she felt that her friendship with Leonard had truly been tested. Before their time in high school they had barely any sort of connection between them. They had known each other, but their so-called ‘friendship’ was on shaky ground. That was the result of years of mockery, teasing, and insulting each other. She would point out his smart-ass behavior and he would point out her questionable, unorthodox behavior in return. They were both the type of people who’d rather antagonize and deflect than actually sit down and admit any of their feelings for each other.

Of course, that was before they had come to truly know each other, before they had truly understood each other. Unknown to Leonard for some time, her mother had always been poor and a drunkard that always got in a relationship with the wrong guy. Tex had even been abused and sexually assaulted by her mom’s boyfriends. However, as soon as Church found out about these atrocities that his friend had gone through, he took it upon himself to offer her to stay at his house. Sounding like a better place than her own home, she accepted and moved to his house.

His home was much, factually, nicer than her’s, feeling almost as luxurious as a mansion and looking almost as big, though it still had the layout of average large house that most people on Earth lived in. Almost as if he was waiting for her to move in, Leonard showed her to the spare bedroom in her house and let her get comfortable. However, showing similar signs of her mother’s compulsion for men, Tex invited another boy into his house. Furiously, Church barged into the room she and the boy were in and demanded him to leave. Angry at the fact that the house Tex was staying in wasn’t actually her house, the boy stormed out and shouted at Leonard that he could keep her, and even went to the point of calling her obscene names.

After he left, Allison apologized repeatedly to him and asked her to forgive him. At first he didn’t give in to her apologies, but then, after several days, everything changed between, a change that neither of them expected. Leonard came up to her and told her he forgave her. But it didn’t stop there. Upon forgiving her, Church told her that he loved her and wanted her to be his girlfriend. She gleefully accepted.

Months went by and things went on and off with their usual everyday life. The only difference was that Church and Tex were hanging out together now as boyfriend and girlfriend instead of hostile friends. Sure, they were still making fun of each other and picking on each other, and not in the way that made it hard to discern between friends and rivals but as a playful couple, but wasn’t that what it was always like?

It wasn’t until Leonard started restricting her access to his things that she started getting ticked off again. That was when she felt that things between them were starting to go downhill, if downhill was the right word for it. Tex wasn’t so sure if things ever really went uphill. She thought it was nothing at first, but as the months went on and on the restrictions continued to come. She got irritated at the idea that her boyfriend was keeping things from her and they got into an argument over it.

But she wasn’t the only one who getting irritated at something in their relationship. Church was also getting irritated at her for nosing around in his private things. Not only that, but she was hanging out with other boys, boys that he had recognized to be some of Allison’s exes. She had been hanging out with them even since they had started dating. Before long, Tex left Church, her heart filled with anger. She would later find out that she was not angry at Leonard but herself. She had chosen put their relationship to the test and therefore make their tensions rise to the breaking point. For once in her life she had actually felt that she was the cause of their breakup. And, perhaps for the first time in her life, she _regretted_ it. Leonard had never treated her like this before, with kindness and a sort of warmth she’d never felt before, no one had, and for once she wanted to give something back in their relationship.

An idea struck her, an idea that would have been absurd in an earlier point in her life, but now it seemed perfectly logical. She loved him, plain and simple. He was the best guy she’d ever met. Sure, he was a dick a lot of the time, he was a smartass, and he got incredibly cocky and egotistical, but his heart was always in the right spot. He could always keep his own life under control, one thing she really couldn’t do. She really did feel like she wanted to be with him, perhaps for the rest of her life. Perhaps he really was the one she should be with. Perhaps he was the one for her.

And then she went back, back to the one place she knew she should be. She knew Leonard would still be angry, furious even, but maybe she could do something about their relationship, by either mending it back to the point where it should have been or destroying it and therefore being rid of it once and for all.

Tex brought herself back to the present, back to the point where she was in a UNSC frigate, with Church, her best friend and boyfriend, sitting across from the table in front of her. “I needed to get away from you,” she explained to Leonard, “and try to straighten up what was happening between us. It was all becoming a blur and there were things happening to me that I had never experienced before.”

“Where did you go?” Church asked curiously.

The Freelancer sighed before replying. “I went to another friend’s house.”

Church narrowed his eyes at her. “ _Another friend’s house_?” he gritted through his teeth. It became very apparent that he did not like what she was telling him. “Tex…” he growled.

Before he could continue, she quickly added, “Church, come on. This was over twenty years ago. Can’t you just let it go?”

“No, I can’t! Because one of the things I know about the Director was that he never got a straight answer about what happened that night either. It’s still one of the things he regretted never doing with Allison: getting closure from that what happened between them.”

Tex tried to bring herself together as Church continued to heat up. Although she was a master of combat and physical capability, she knew he could beat her in mentality, sheer stubbornness, and go toe-to-toe with her when it came to verbal sparring. He didn’t need to use strength and painful threats to beat people, but use words and arguments instead. “You don’t understand, Church. I was afraid, confused. There was so much going on between us that I just had to get away. I’ve never had to deal with this type of emotion before.”

“And so you just ran away from it instead. You ran away from me when you could have just fixed everything between us right there and then.”

“Church, please,” she begged. Conversations like this were well beyond her level of expertise. She was seeing that he was about to lose his temper, and she would lose hers in turn.

“ **No**! I’ve had it! We’re going to straighten this out right now, even if you don’t want to!” he seethed at her, his temper getting the better of him yet again. Tex seemed to shrink slightly in her seat. It was something that was usually very unlike her, backing away instead of being confrontational. But this was Leonard who was talking to her, not just another soldier, not just another Red or Blue, not even another Freelancer. This was _him_. He knew her better than anyone else and, compared to them, she almost always went light on him. He was her weakness just as much as she was his.

Tex looked around worriedly. Strangely, no one was paying any mind to them. She felt that things were going downhill fast. This wasn't supposed to be one of those conversations that turned into a full-blown argument. She had to fix this fast, before either would say something they'd regret.

“We don’t need to straighten things out,” she said.

Church lowered his voice and continued giving Tex a menacing look. “And why is that?” he hissed.

Tex looked into his eyes, his emerald-green, handsome, amazing eyes. “Because I love you,” she said. “I love you more than anything.”

Church snorted. “Yeah right.”

“I’m serious,” she deadpanned. 

“Oh really?” he asked, disbelief in his tone. “Prove it.”

Tex smirked. “Fine, then.” With little to no warning, the red-haired woman swept the trays on the table off to the side and moved forward, grabbing Leonard by the collar and bringing him forward as well. They moved to the middle of the table and, to Church’s utmost surprise, their lips crashed into each other.

The kiss felt extraordinary. For the first in what seemed like an age, Allison had managed to kiss Church on the lips, and for the right reason. She did it, not because she wanted to tease him nor because she was bidding for his attention, but because she truly loved him and wanted to show him such.

The two sat together in an embrace for several seconds, although it felt more like a few minutes, before their lips finally parted. Church and Tex went back to their original postures and stared at each other, a dumb smile slowly forming on both of their faces. They stayed like that for what felt like a solid minute.

“There,” Tex breathed, finally breaking the silence. “Was that good enough?”

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice much more calm and relaxed than before and, dare she say it, blissful. She really did like Leonard when he was like this, instead of his usual angry self. “Thank you, Allison. I’m sorry for what I said to you there.”

“It’s alright,” she said. If there’s one thing she knew, it was that an apology was rare for him, so she treated it with reverence.

They sat in companionable silence, their food forgotten, their gaze focused solely on each other. That is until the mess hall speakers blared to activity, filled with Sheila’s monotonic yet harmonious voice. “ _All Reds, Blues, and Freelancers to the Freelancer Training Hall ASAP. Repeat, all Reds, Blues, and Freelancers to the Freelancer Training Hall. Mark VI armor required for use._ ” With that, the speaker died and all the Reds and Blues stood up from their seats. Even Junior stood.

The troopers stepped away from their seats and, as swiftly as they were able, moved out of the mess hall. Church and Tex joined them, briefly giving each other a questioning look before continuing. The group returned to their quarters where, inside, there would be their zero-suits, armor, and a machine to help put it all on.

Church moved over to his room and opened the door. Tex had done the same. He turned to the Freelancer. “See you there, Allison,” Church smiled at her, not a cocky, arrogant smirk, but a genuine, happy smile on his face.

“See you there, Leonard,” she replied with her own smile. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was true happiness and true love in their relationship; no obsession, no one-sided jabbing or pining; just true, genuine affection and love.

The agents stepped into their rooms and the doors closed behind them.

* * *

Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Freelancer Training Hall Overlook, Paris-Class Frigate

Shipboard Time: 0710 Hours

Date: June 18, 2557

It had been a long time since she had been on a ship, especially one that looked so much like the ship she had lived on before. Although the _All or Nothing_ didn’t have all of the characteristics of her old home, the _Mother of Invention_ , it still brought back memories, some happy, some troubling, but many more of them haunting. There were ghosts here, but should not have been, echoes of troubled past.

Carolina scanned the training room with the eyes of a hawk. She didn’t know why, though, since she had seen the hall before an innumerable amount of times. It was just because of that feeling of good memories that led her to continue to stare at the room.

The cyan Freelancer looked up at the glass window in front of her face and she could easily make out her reflection. She stared at the mirror image blankly. From what Carolina could see, she was young, looking only in her twenties, although that was quite deceptive considering she was in her mid-thirties at this point, with a young, oval head to match. Her hawkish eyes shone a bright emerald green on a scowling, but otherwise flawless fair-skinned face, and her lips remained red and firm. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She had been told multiple times through her life that she looked flawless, pretty, even beautiful. Carolina didn’t like it when people used those words to describe her. For some reason they always made her uncomfortable, always awkward.

She was never one for flattery or anything of that nature. Most of the time she felt that when someone did it to her she suspected they had an ulterior motive or she otherwise felt she didn’t deserve it. She’d never been the kind of woman to just sit back and let any man, or any person for that matter, lead or get things done. She was a take-charge woman and when people saw that, they were usually put off by that and chose to back down, which was fine by her. The last things she needed were liars and kiss-asses. Only a select few people were actually capable of complimenting her without cowering in fear, who seemed genuine. There were parents and York…

Carolina brought her eyes down to the rest of her reflection. She was still wearing her bright, blue, Recon-pattern armor. Ever since day one, she had worn it proudly, wearing it even more often than civilian clothing that she used to have all the time. It had saved her life many times and she had always been grateful for it. Who wouldn’t she be? Ever since she had first seen one, she had always been in awe over the idea of supersoldiers, even to the point where she wanted to be a supersoldier, maybe even a Spartan. And when the time came, when she was asked to join Project Freelancer she did not refuse or rebel. She was actually rather excited about it.

Carolina heard the steel door slide open behind her and soft breeze brush her hair, but she did not turn around. She knew someone was coming. As a matter of fact, she planned it.

“Carolina,” the new arrival spoke. The woman turned her head enough to see the reflection of the man behind her. Behind her, Wash stood at attention, fully armored and ready for instructions. Knowing the male Freelancer well enough, Carolina was less than surprised. Wash, and all other Freelancers for that matter, had been trained to stand at attention and await orders or, otherwise, be dismissed by said officers. Although most of his teammates had not taken this idea in quickly when they first entered into the project, Wash had adapted to it almost immediately, quickly standing as stiff as a statue and moving only when given the order to. Even though he was not as skilled or advanced as most of his teammates, he followed his orders to the letter, stopping only when the task was beyond his physical, mental, or, in some very specific circumstances, moral capabilities.

“Yes, Wash?” she asked in a calm, bordering on stern, voice.

“We’re all set and ready to go,” he replied. Carolina just barely heard a tiny stall as he finished speaking, as if he wanted to say something else. She glanced at his armored features and saw a slight bit of sudden movement, mostly around his hands and fingers. She smirked. However much he tried to hide it, Wash had always been a bit more jittery than the rest of them. He was particularly like this when he wanted to interject something into a conversation, but was usually afraid of ridicule. Judging from the many past experiences she had shared with him, Carolina knew that now was one of those times.

“Alright,” she said. “Hey Wash?”

“Yeah, boss?” he replied. Carolina remembered Wash calling her ‘boss’ before, back in the day. She didn’t know why, but she had become used to it over time. Besides, she would much rather be called that than ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am.’ The name just seemed to fit, like it really made her different than all the other officers.

“I know you’re holding something else back from me.”

The Freelancer shook his head slightly, as if he was trying to clear up some confusion. “Wait, what?”

“You’re twitching like you always do when you want to say something else.” Carolina turned to face her friend. “Go ahead. Spit it out.”

“Well…” he began, his voice quivering slightly before returning to his usual composure. “Are you sure you want them to do this? Observe and train them now? They’ve been separated for years and thus have very different levels of training. They’ve only just gotten back together.”

The cyan Freelancer let out a huff before replying, “Yes Wash, I’m sure.”

“But they might not be ready for it.”

“Well then, we’ll have to make them ready.” Carolina hardened her voice. “This isn’t a game anymore, Wash. War is here again and we need to be prepared for it. I need to be ready for it.”

“But most of them already have the combat experience they need. They’ve been in more battles than I can count in the last four years alone. Plus, I gave you their most recent records and personnel files.”

“True. But I need to see them in action, see how they work as a team. I cannot rely solely on records and data. We saw how well that worked with South and Maine.”

“But it’s not just teamwork they’re going to be working on,” Wash pointed out.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m going to see how they do personally, what skills they have, what strengths they have, and what weaknesses they have.” To a degree, she did it for tactical advantage. But that wasn’t the only reason she was doing this, the training. On a more personal note, she was going to see if any of them could challenge her superiority, as leader of the team and at skill level. Especially Tex. Although they had not met in years and that the original Tex was long dead, she still felt that this Tex was no different from the last. She looked the same, she sounded the same, and she gave off the same type of harsh, cold-blooded aura as the black-armored Agent before her.

Carolina faced her back to him. “Go back to the troopers and make them ready for what’s to come. I don’t expect this battle to be so easily won, especially for them.”

“On it, boss.” With that, the Freelancer turned and Carolina heard Wash march swiftly out of the door.

The door sealed once more and the red-haired Freelancer waited in her spot for several long seconds. _Well, Wash, it appears you’ve gone soft on me again. I’ll be sure to give these Reds and Blues a real warm welcome. Then we’ll see how great these ‘soldiers’ are_ , Carolina thought to herself. She cocked her head up and cleared her throat. “FILSS,” she called.

A harmonic ring sounded and Sheila’s voice was heard. “Yes, Agent Carolina?”

“Access data files from SPARTAN-III Archive, Subsection: Planet Reach SPARTAN Academy and Training Centers, Category-”

“Agent Carolina,” warned Sheila, who had also been programmed to respond to FILSS, “that archive is restricted to Beta-5 Division Section Three ONI personnel only-”

“Clearance code,” the woman interrupted, “Three-Five-Niner-dash-Twenty-Two-Delta-slash-Bravo-dash-Five-slash-Charlie-Zero-Niner-dash-Alpha-dash-Oscar-November-India. Acknowledge.”

Sheila chimed in affirmation. “Access granted. Do you wish to continue?”

“Yes. Like I said before, access SPARTAN-III Archive, Subsection: Planet Reach SPARTAN Academy and Training Centers, Category: Training Programs and Challenges. Locate and upload the file relating to the Three Hundred Challenge.”

Merely half a second passed before Sheila chimed positively once more. “File located,” she announced. “Would you like me to open them up to you?”

“Yes, FILSS.” In a flash of light, the glass in front of her lit up with a blue glow. The light dissipated and formed into a set of numbers and detailed assortment of words, all of which was inside of a box. Carolina scanned the visually transmitted file for several moments and her lips curled into a somewhat diabolical smile. She had found what she was looking for.

“FILSS?” Carolina asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes, Agent Carolina?”

“Modify the simulation droid count from 300 to 900.”

Sheila paused several seconds before beeping again. “Modification confirmed. File updated.”

“Good,” replied the Freelancer.

“One quick note, Agent Carolina,” interrupted the female-based program. “This action will completely exhaust the _All or Nothing_ ’s simulation droid supply.”

“I know.” Carolina did a half-second calculated pause before continuing her directions. “FILSS, open the file’s audio recording.”

“Complying,” said Sheila. Suddenly, the blue data file faded out in a way that was akin to a spirit or ghost disappearing. In its place, an intricate, well-documented information page became visible, featuring the actual recorded dialogue as well as a readable copy of the audio.

Carolina scanned the file the same way she did with the one before, quickly and precisely. “FILSS, modify the dialogue recording and script by replacing the word ‘three SPARTANs’ with ‘nine SPARTANs’ and replace the words ‘three hundred’, when it appears the second time, with the words ‘nine hundred’.”

“Complying.” Milliseconds passed by and the A.I. chimed yet again. “Update complete. Awaiting your order to begin the simulation.”

* * *

Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Freelancer Training Hall Prep Room, Paris-Class Frigate

Shipboard Time: 0715 Hours

Date: June 18, 2557

It was, as he had been taught by his friend, always important to be ready for battle. No matter the situation or the objective, one must always prepare for what is to be expected and, sometimes, even what is not to be expected. Tucker had taken those words by heart and remembered them well. To a degree, he had learned the hard way what would happen if he was not prepared, not only from the Sangheili which he had grown used to but the unexpected events of his life as a Blue.

Tucker stood apart from the rest of the squad members, leaning against a wall with no one but Junior standing close by. Like the other Reds and Caboose, he and Junior had put on their combat armor as ordered and had moved to the waiting area outside of the Freelancer training hall, specifically the main combat arena. Everyone had their helmets off as well, holding the lightweight armor pieces “What do you think this is about, father?” asked Junior, putting a slight bit of strain on the _fff_. Tucker had noticed this pattern with practically all Elites. Sangheili could not make the exact same noises and syllables as humans due to their split-jaw mouths and, because of that, had difficulties pronouncing certain words from the English language.

Tucker glanced at his son before moving back to his original position. “I don’t know what to think, Junior.”

The Elite gave him a questioning look. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I’ve lived with Sangheili long enough and, to be honest, I’ve kinda forgotten what it’s like living with humans, how unorganized people can be and how rushed everyone seem to get. It’s not like Sanghelios where people live a smooth, ordered, simple life. You know, where the daily routine is: get up, exercise, eat, do some political stabilization, spar, eat, patrol, and then have a bit of free time. Not much to it, really.”

“So you’re saying it’s more chaotic.”

“To a degree, yes. And what I’ve said is not necessarily true with all humans, especially the really smart ones. For example, the ones who work for ONI.”

“It’s just with most of them,” finished Junior.

“Exactly.” The sound of a door hissed open and the troopers turned their attention to the source. Agent Washington stepped into the room, fully armored except for his helmet, which he held against his hip. From what Tucker could see, the Freelancer had a nice, kindly face that gave off a friendly look, which was rather contradictive compared to his attitude towards them. His hair, short and blonde, and his oak-colored eyes just helped complement those features.

“I see everyone’s made it,” began Wash, glancing at Caboose, Grif, and Donut. Tucker chuckled quietly to himself. Of all the figures there, it was those three that had the hardest time following any sort of procedure. “I may be wrong, but I’m guessing most of you are wondering why you’ve been called here on such short notice.”

“Not really,” responded Grif. The others looked at him.

“Why do you say that?” asked Simmons.

“Well, based on the given information, I’d say we’re here for the purpose of training and observing or, rather, being trained and observed by our newest member of the team.”

This time it Sarge who spoke. “Grif, that’s absurd. If they wanted to do that they would put us all in some elaborate cage and make us all fight to the death.”

Wash cut in, alarm in his voice. “What? No! Where would you have gotten that idea?”

“I found it on the internet once.”

“Sir,” Simmons spoke again, “the internet is full lies and deceitful information. You could have practically gotten that stuff from anyone before.”

“Simmons, just hear me out before you go rambling with your smart-ass mumbo jumbo. As I was saying, I read on an article once that in the universe Warhammer 40k in order for people to get accepted into Space Marine squads they are thrown into a cage and are expected to fight each other to the death. The survivors get to live on and become supersoldiers.”

“Sarge,” Simmons interrupted again, “that is perhaps one of the most brutal and bloody universes in science fiction, period. The methods implied in Warhammer, in every aspect, are meant to kill most modern day humans and frighten the hell out of everyone who lives in it. And they get thrown into chapters, not squads, sir.”

“But still,” Sarge said, “that’s a hell of an effective method.”

“But it’s beside the point,” Wash cut in. “No, we are not doing that. Nothing even close to that.”

“Could you tell us at least what we are doing?” asked Tucker.

“I can’t say exactly,” said the blonde Freelancer. “All I can tell you is that you will all be tested, collectively and individually. Call it a challenge for yourselves.” The man turned to the wall on his left, a wall that had once been empty. When the other soldiers turned to it, however, the wall slid away to reveal a number of UNSC weapons, including rifles, SMGs, shotguns, railguns, and grenade launchers. There were also a variety of Covenant weapons with them.

Time stood still as the group stared gleefully at the arsenal of weapons in front of them. Of all the things Tucker had seen before, he had never seen a stock of weapons as large as this. The largest amount he had seen before was at the Vadam Keep main armory and, although it had a larger amount of guns and swords than this, the wall in front of him had a bigger, more expansive flavor of ballistics and heavy ordnance.

Wash cleared his throat and the soldiers focused their attention on him again. “Due to the difficult nature of this first challenge, you are allowed to take any and all weapons at your disposal.”

This time it was Tex who spoke up. “All of them?” she asked, giving a sinister grin.

“All of them," he affirmed. With that, the agent turned around and walked out on them.

The group moved over to the weapon racks and, almost immediately, everyone began the process of choosing their tools of destruction. For the most part, everyone knew what they wanted already. Church took a sniper rifle, battle rifle, and magnum while Tex went to get a battle rifle, dual SMGs, and a grenade launcher. She even decided to detach one of the three turrets that were available. They already had their combat knives, as did everyone else. At the same time Simmons gathered up a battle rifle, rocket launcher, and magnum. Donut grabbed a BR and a pair of magnums, as well as several plasma grenades. Even Caboose and Sarge went to get a few things, Caboose taking an assault rifle with a magnum, and Sarge going for a shotgun and magnum. Upon making their choices, the two of them removed the other tripod-mounted machineguns from their spots.

However, some of the group already had weapons before they had entered the room, namely Tucker and Junior with their energy swords and Grif with his brute shot. They still took secondary armaments. Grif took a battle rifle while Tucker opted for a DMR and Junior had the liberty of choosing a Covenant carbine.

Once their equipment was secure, each of them slipped on their helmets and sealed them, with Tex balling her hair up before slipping on her helmet.

“Alright,” said Church, “looks like we’re ready.” The others nodded in agreement.

“Okay. So what’s the plan?” asked Simmons.

“Easy,” replied Sarge, always the one to speak of plans first, “we get in there and kick ass, plain and simple.”

* * *

The battle was slow to begin with, but would, in time, speed to the point where it would become chaos. That’s the way that most battles happened. Everything would go from a solemn, slow, and purposeful advance to a bloody, confusing frenzy of destruction. Battles within battles would form and sides would mix in together, warping and twisting to become one big whirlwind of chaos.

The team made their way into the arena, keeping together in a consistent formation, with Tex in front, flanked by Caboose and Sarge, and everyone else falling behind. They all had guns drawn, ready to tackle the challenge waiting for them.

As the team made their way to the center of the room, a square platform rose up from the ground with ramps extending from the edges. Adjacent to each corner, other smaller platforms rose twice as high as the original platform, no ramps or friendly handholds attached to it.

The team walked to the center of the large platform. As they did so, a voice echoed from the speakers in the room, a male human’s voice by the sound of it. “Three thousand years ago,” he said, “three hundred Spartans held off against an army of thousands.”

As if hearing a cue from the voice itself, Tex barked at the others to get into defensive positions. Tex position herself so she was facing the center of three unused entrances while Caboose and Sarge turned to their designated doorways. Everyone else followed suit, with Tucker and Junior flanking Caboose when he faced left, Donut and Grif taking sides with Sarge as he faced right, and Church and Simmons getting into position alongside Tex.

“Now,” the voice continued, “nine SPARTANs shall face an army of **nine hundred**.” The speaker cut to an abrupt halt as a starting siren went off and the first enemies dashed forth. From each entrance, small clusters of training androids moved with the staggered efficiency of freshly-trained Marines, no more than three or four at a time. Each android carried a form of plasma weapon, either a plasma rifle, plasma repeater, storm rifle, plasma cannon, beam rifle, or focus rifle, and wore a form of GUNGNIR helmet plus a wooden-brown paint job.

The machineguns opened fire on the bots, their bullets spraying the clustered figures. As Church watched the opening salvo, he couldn’t help but begin to feel a growing sensation of adrenaline. It felt good. He wondered if Tex felt this way when she was in the heat of battle, if she really felt this sensation. He turned his head at her and saw what he usually saw in her, a solid, unmoving figure clad in black. The armor was incredibly deceiving. Although it almost always looking calm, the wearer underneath was almost always never calm. It reminded Church of statues and, at times, the Forerunner picts he was able to get a glance at.

The bots fell to the ground, smoking holes riddling their bodies. However, as soon as the first group fell, another group had already started making their way out of the doorway. Church looked around at the others’ progress and saw droids coming out of the other entrances.

But even as the second group fell, the droids continued to come, not so much in exiting in groups but in a slow, shambled line instead. The pace of the bots had quickened slightly in the speed of their appearance as well. Eventually even the machineguns rain of fire couldn’t keep up with the droids advance and, as the turrets ran dry, the others began using their own weapons.

Tex’s gun fell silent as the last of her ammunition went out and the droids moved up. But as they did so, Simmons ran forward and fired his rocket launcher at the mass. He was rewarded with an explosion as roughly half a dozen bodies went flying around.

In the next few seconds the others rushed forward with their weapons and began firing on the attackers. Sarge led the assault on one side, blasting bots with armor-piercing buckshot, and Tucker led the other, drawing his energy sword and slicing up the opposing units. Meanwhile, Caboose went off and fought his own battle, shooting a pair of droids with his assault rifle. Grif had used the magazine in his battle rifle but didn’t stop to reload. Instead, he swapped it out for the brute shot and continued to destroy the opposition. Donut, on the other hand, continued switching between his BR, pistols, and plasma grenades. When the time came to reload his guns he would throw a pair of grenades and swap out his magazines in rapid succession. Simmons joined the fray and used his rifle for the most part, although he would occasionally switch to his rocket launcher in the face of a horde.

While the rest of the group found themselves engulfed in combat, Church and Tex took the liberty to pair up and fight together. Church held his own with the pinpoint accuracy of his sniper rifle while Tex would ravage the enemy with quick bursts of her battle rifle, hailed them with caseless SMG rounds, and blast them apart with the occasional pluck of her grenade launcher.

As the fight dragged on, the fighting only got more intense as the bots continued to heat the air with plasma fire. Church had lost count of how many of the annoying machines he had destroyed but was sure it had to be nearly a hundred. He could only imagine the number of bots the others had taken care of.

Church looked behind him to see if his partner was still there. But she wasn’t. In the midst of the combat, Tex had split off from the sniper and gone solo. The Blue smirked under his visor. It was always like her to do, going off and being the merciless lone wolf she was. He knew that, in the event that that would happen, he would be able to hold his own. But the thing that was most surprising, to the both of them at least, was that they actually worked better together than apart. Alone, they were deadly, but together, they were unstoppable. Church had a feeling that they would need this connection in the near future.

Church turned towards of the nearest small platforms and looked up. To his surprise, Tex had actually climbed on top of the structure. She stared down at a cluster of bots for several seconds, SMGs in hand, and jumped down. The Freelancer landed behind the group with a light thump and the bots turned to her. As soon as they faced her, however, she pulled the triggers and the group was systematically eliminated.

Church looked around the arena once more and saw that the droids’ numbers had been significantly reduced. The bots had gone from the status of a teeming horde to a miniscule skirmish. The battle was practically won.

In the last minutes of combat, the team swept up the last of the forces. Simmons blasted one cluster of the brown combat units with his double-barreled launcher, Grif dispersed and broke another, and Church killed the last eight with his sniper rifle, getting two kills per shot.

As the group got back together again, the door in which they had entered the arena opened up to them and the group walked through it, ammunition spent but satisfied in the completion of their task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be completely honest when I say I was not entirely satisfied with how I wrote the interaction between Church and Tex. No matter how I look at it, the flashback sequence never seemed quite right. I wanted to find a way for the two of them to sort of reconcile for all the toxicity that they constantly did to each other in pretty much all their interactions in the show because I felt that there had to be something besides that in their relationship. Just the way the Director acted about her death and everything that happened in Project Freelancer leads me to believe that their negativity to each other was not actually as common as the show made it out to be. It's just that Church's perception of Allison lead to some personality traits being more pronounced than others. Deep down, they still cared about each other to the point that they supposedly got married and had a kid.
> 
> I'd like to thank [texelations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/texelations/pseuds/texelations) for inspiring what I believe to be the fanon depiction of the life of Leonard and Allison Church before the beginning of the show. Back on Fanfiction.net where I started, she had given me permission to cite her as a source of inspiration for Church and Tex's background just because of how good it was. And now I post it again. Check out her works on [Keystone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009961/chapters/4357347) for more.
> 
> The second part of the chapter is my favorite. It was heavily based on the '300 Hundred Challenge' used in [Rise of the Spartans](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbxKeF0JSqg). I consider it the second greatest Halo Machinima, right after Red vs Blue.


	10. Where Do We Go From Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reds and Blues dock at a nearby UNSC station to resupply and rearm while assessing where they should begin their search for the Director. Whilst doing so, Carolina takes a small interest in one Blue in particular...

Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Secondary Freelancer Training Halls, Approaching Designated UNSC Orbital Station Beta-4, Sigma Octanus IV

Shipboard Time: 1000 Hours

Date: June 19, 2557

Tucker ducked down in anticipation of the strike. Holding the energy sword hilt in his hand, he lashed out at the hologram. The attack struck the Elite-shaped hologram’s ‘chest’ and the entity fell to the floor, purple blood oozing out, before fizzling away in a flash of blue light. The blood disappeared with it, leaving a smooth, shiny surface in its wake.

“Round complete,” announced Sheila over the hall speakers. Tucker slowly lifted himself away from the ground and slowed his breathing down. “Casualty total: five Elite Majors, three Elite Zealots. Time total: one minute and zero point five one seconds.”

“Run it again, Sheila,” he commanded, flexing his arms back and forth several times.

“Are you sure you want to go again, Private Tucker?” she asked with a hint of concern in her voice. “It has been nearly two hours since you first began.”

“I said ‘again’, Sheila,” Tucker snapped.

“Complying. Resetting the floor for Combat Simulation 51. Difficulty setting set to Legendary.” The floor in front of him winked with blue light before revealing a formation of fully armored Elites. At the front of the formation, a large, gruesome Zealot stood firm, his energy sword unsheathed, bathing his golden armor in glowing blue-white light. On either side of him, four Majors had positioned themselves in battle-ready formation. Two had their own energy swords out while the remaining pair had armed themselves with plasma rifles, their swords magnetized to their legs. Just behind the lead Sangheili, the fifth Major and other two Zealots were ready to leap forward, their eyes keenly trained on the aqua-colored soldier.

Tucker rotated his head around a few times, once again preparing for the fight. The simulations he and the other Reds and Blues went through yesterday had taken a bit more of a toll on him than he thought. After they had completed the Three Hundred Challenge, they had gone through at least a dozen other tests, some of them cooperative, some of them competitive. They even had a few sparring matches against each, both marksman and hand-to-hand. Church won out pretty decently against most of them in the marksman challenges, only beaten by Tex and sometimes Donut of all people, although he only beat his teammate in the pistol-centric rounds. In the melee department, Tucker and Junior came in third and fifth respectively, with Tex beating them out yet again, and Sarge coming out at a close fourth. Caboose came out in second only on the merit of his obscene strength, with very few people able to get him to topple over, much less yield.

Sheila began the countdown timer. “Round begins in five…” Tucker held his sword loosely in his hand and positioned his legs into sparring formation.

“Four…” The opposing Elites did likewise, spreading their legs evenly and drawing their sword arms off to the side.

“Three…” The plasma-rifle-wielding Majors aimed their weapons out at him, their fingers just barely off the trigger.

“Two…” Tucker gave one last assessment of the enemy formation. Although he had done this numerous times in the last two hours alone, it was always a good idea to check one last time in case there was something he missed. There was always the chance that there was something different with this scenario or that there was something he missed. Once again, however, nothing had changed.

“One…” Both sides tightened their muscles together and prepared to leap forward.

“Round start.” Three of the five Majors charged forward, eager to get plunge their blades into the human. Simultaneously, plasma fire flew across the arena. Most of the shots dissipated harmlessly off the floor and back wall and the few that hit were easily blocked by Tucker’s sword.

Tucker sidestepped as the first Major came up and sliced at him. Instead of moving to counterattack, he stepped over to the second Elite and swept him off his feet. As he saw his comrade fall, the third Major made an uppercut at the human. Tucker immediately saw it coming and blocked the attack with his own weapon. The Elite growled in anger, but, at the same time, Tucker made his first counterattack and sliced it at the alien’s chest. The seven-foot tall creature fell to the floor with a roar of pain before his breathing stopped altogether. Making use of his advantage, Tucker brought his sword low to the ground and slashed the Elite he just tripped.

Turning on his heels, the swordsman raised his energy blade just in time to meet the first Major’s own. The blades clashed and a flash of light flared between them. Before the Major had a chance to react, however, Tucker grabbed his chestplate with his other hand and threw the Elite between the two plasma-riflemen and himself. The Major roared in surprise before being shot in the back by his comrades. Using the grappled Elite as a shield, Tucker charged across the hall floor and collided with one of the ranged Covenant. As the aliens landed on the ground, Tucker stabbed his blade down through the chest of one of the Elites on top. The blade went through both bodies and killed them.

Tucker heard footsteps coming from behind him and he rolled out of the way just in time as a Zealot cut downwards. Fortunately, Tucker was able to slide his sword under the officer’s guard and he cut a deep gash through the alien’s belly. The Elite fell face-first onto his own pile of blood.

Tucker brought his head up and quickly counted his remaining targets. _Five down, three to go_ , he confirmed to himself. The three other Elites roared in unison before continuing their attack.

As the second Zealot got within striking distance, Tucker closed the distance quicker than expected, ducking under his opponent’s guard. This resulted in the human being too close for the Sangheili to make an effective melee. The Zealot barked as the Blue pushed the Elite back and jumped onto and over the armored figure. This was then followed up with Tucker coming down onto the last Major and cutting him open from the left shoulder to the top of the right leg. The Major spent the last of his energy grasping his chest before permanently blacking out. Tucker then made a 180 degree turn and stabbed hit sword through the back of the Zealot in which he had just recently jumped over. He pulled his sword out with a firm tug and the alien fell over, two cauterized holes smoking in his chest.

Tucker turned to face the last Elite, who had stood by, waiting to have him all to himself. “You may have defeated my brothers, human, but you will die by my hand before my time comes.”

“I really doubt that,” the Blue snarked. The Zealot roared in defiance before charging forward, sword ready to strike. Tucker did the same, copying his movements. The two duelists struck at each other, hooking, slicing, and cutting with the same set of moves. All the moves were blocked in unison. Finally, after over a dozen strikes and counterstrikes, the Zealot faltered slightly in his stance and the human saw his opening. In rapid succession, Tucker knocked the Elite’s energy sword out of the way, twirling his opponent around. The trooper then jumped on his back and plunged his sword down. The blade made a loud sizzle and the alien gasped one more time before meeting the fate of his brothers.

The Elite fell to the floor with a thud and Tucker stepped off. His sword came out of the body without almost any resistance. He was glad for the ease and weightlessness of the blade. Of all the weapons he had ever used before, energy swords were perhaps the lightest, most portable, and easiest wielding. The energy allowed for easy cutting through just about any material and, because the energy weighed practically nothing, the only gravitational pull the weapon had come from the sword hilt.

As he stepped away from the body, it phased away in an instant. The rest of the bodies did the same and the Blue snorted with content.

“Round complete,” Sheila announced yet again. “Casualty total: five Elite Majors and three Elite Zealots. Time total: forty-five point two-one seconds.”

“Nice timing,” called a voice, “although I have to say that the comment with the Zealot was rather unnecessary.” Tucker deactivated his sword, magnetized it to his thigh, and turned to find the source. And, among all other things, the voice came from none other than Agent Carolina, who was leaning against a nearby wall, fully armored except for her helmet which she held against her side.

“Timing,” said Tucker. “That’s all you have to say about my performance? My timing?”

“No,” the Freelancer replied, “but timing is what I believe to be one of the most important requirements for victory. That and efficiency.”

Tucker raised an eyebrow. “And how was my efficiency?”

“For the most part, good. Like I said before, the only thing that was rather unnecessary was the talk with the hologram.”

Tucker removed his helmet and brushed his hand over his short black hair. He looked at the cyan soldier and blinked in surprise at her facial features. Carolina, strange as she was, bore a strikingly similar appearance to Tex. Besides the ponytail and slightly brighter shade of red for hair, their faces were almost practically the same, same shape, similar lips, same eyes. There were still some tiny facial differences between the two, a handful of freckles on Tex, a slightly thinner nose on Carolina, and a bit more anger, aggression, and age from Tex, but, if they were put side by side, they could pass themselves off as sisters, cousins, or a mother and daughter.

“What’s wrong with talking to the hologram?” he asked.

“It’s a hologram,” she stated bluntly. “It’s not an actual alien. Just a hologram.”

“So?”

“So, the hologram is programmed to speak those exact words in that exact manner in those exact conditions. It’s really a waste of time, trying to communicate with it.”

“Well, it helps spice things up, stopping it from turning into one of those mindless, soulless simulations you Freelancers constantly use.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Not if you’ve been where I’ve been.”

Carolina smirked in bemusement. “Where you’ve been. Buddy, if you’ve been where I’ve been, you would’ve thought twice before saying that to me.”

Tucker butted into the statement, a tone of anger slowly creeping into his voice. “Oh really? Well, where have you been all this time, _Carolina_?”

“Across over two dozen colonies, Inner and Outer, most of them in the last four years alone. And where have you been? Oh, I remember. Stuck on a single rock, alone with nothing but those alien _freaks_ and your own self amusement.”

The Blue snapped at the word _freaks_. “Freaks? Is that what you call them? Girl, you have no idea what the word freaks even means if you think Sangheili are like that.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

“Yes,” he sputtered, very quickly losing his cool, “you wouldn’t. You, just like everyone else, don’t have an inkling of an idea what they are actually like.”

“I know enough about them,” she countered, anger and irritation sprouting from her own vocal cords, “to know that they are merciless, heartless, bloodthirsty monsters that deserve nothing less than to be put down like some wild animals! They don’t know what it is like to lose such a horrific amount of their own kind like we do! Not only that, but I’d doubt they’d even care if they did.”

“Then you don’t know _half_ of what the Sangheili are really like. They live a life of self-devotion and perfection in the things that they do and, unlike most people, they have a sense of honor and respect to their comrades.”

“I know about this so-called ‘honor’ the Elites have imposed on themselves. It has led to the death of untold billions of men, women, and children-”

“You shouldn’t try to hold anything against them,” he interrupted. “They didn’t know what they were doing. They were just being led by the Prophets like a bunch of dogs.”

“-including both of my parents.”

Tucker froze and looked her in the eyes with shock. He had met many people in the waning years of the Human-Covenant who had lost someone they loved, but to lose two people… that was too much for some. Personally, he didn’t know or care about anyone else other than the people he was with now. Nobody back home cared about him, nobody bothered to ask, not even to have a small chat. He was not loved, not in any sense of the word. And perhaps he shouldn’t be. It wouldn’t stop him from being a human being, though, and feel the way that a normal human felt. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I had no idea.”

Carolina returned the look with anger. Although he clearly saw that same attitude openly, he noticed her own hint of sadness just barely visible beneath it. “Well, now you do.”

A nearby speaker chimed in and the two of them looked at it. Sheila began speaking through it. “Attention all personnel. We are now stationed at UNSC Orbital Station Beta-4. With permission, you may go on shore leave. Be advised, the UNSC _All or Nothing_ will be leaving the station in approximately two hours.”

Carolina looked back to Tucker, who, in turn, did the same. “Looks like that’s my call,” she said.

“Don’t you mean ‘our call’?” he rebutted. Normally for him, that would’ve been a time to pull out one of his infamous _bow-chicka-bow-wow_ s, but he felt he’d get his ass handed to him by her so he suppressed the urge. “I’m pretty sure the others will want to know what we’re going to do next, too.”

“Have it your way. Just try not to get into trouble while we’re here.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

* * *

Location: UNSC Orbital Station Beta-4, Sigma Octanus IV

Station Time: 1030 Hours

Date: June 19, 2557

The teams had been assembled in the station’s main briefing room, a dimly lit, fairly spaced out, metal box with a cluster of holographic projectors embedded into the floor. Only three of them were active, one for the Chairman of the Oversight Subcommittee, one for the former Councilor of Project Freelancer, and one for what could only be guessed as a high commanding UNSC officer, a general maybe.

Tex didn’t like those sorts of people, not in the least bit. They always had a knack for getting in the way of doing what she did best: kill things. Whether it was an Insurrectionist or a split-jaw Covenant, all of them had felt her wrath. None stood before her, for she was a force of nature, a piece of clay molded together through training, persistence, and time.

The problem with commanding officers is that they always expected her to do things their way. And usually, as with most of the time, it wasn’t the best way for her. There were exceptions, though: the Director, the Chairman, and Church, especially him. Although he didn’t call himself one, Church had always been the one to pave the way for the team, to give them direction and guidance. He wasn’t necessarily the kindest or most inspiring leader she had ever seen, but he always had a knack for directing people in ways that suited her better than anyone else. He was a hell of a lot better at it than Sarge, that’s for sure. Maybe that’s why she’d let him stick around her for as long as she did. Or maybe it was something else. Maybe it’s because they were both programs based off the same person, or maybe they just really did love each other. Maybe they were just destined to find each other. Tex wasn’t so sure. She never had been.

The Freelancer snapped her attention back to projections in front of her, their color-specific graphics playing against her visor.

“As I understand it, Agent,” said the General, “you and Agent Texas were under the influence of the Director for some time.”

“That is correct, sir,” replied Carolina, who was currently positioned at the front of the group. Just like the rest of them, she had her helmet sealed over her head, her own body posed stiffly at attention. Tex wondered if the rest of the group was really as attentive as the she and Carolina were. She doubted it. The black Freelancer had been able to tell what everyone’s attitude in the meeting was like based solely on their postures. Carolina, Wash, Sarge, and Church were at attention, solidly focused on the information being received to them. Grif, Simmons, and Donut were making their best efforts to stay focused on the topic at hand, though they got a little distracted every once in a while. Tucker was also slightly uneasy, seeming to be a little on edge, most likely from being so used to the presence of Sangheili instead of humans. And Caboose was most likely not even paying attention, his head swaying in all sorts of directions.

“Indeed.” The General crossed his arms over his chest. “I hope your past loyalties do not interfere with the situation at hand, Agents. We didn’t come this far just to have misplaced trust now.”

“They won’t sir,” said Tex and Carolina in unison.

“Good.” The General looked over at the Counselor and nodded. All three of the holograms diminished in size and made way for massive projected map of all of known space. There were several areas highlighted red, blue, and yellow, each filled with varying amounts of planets, from as large as having multiple star systems to as small as holding a single dwarf planet.

“Now,” he continued, “based on recent intelligence reports, we have narrowed the Director’s location down to three locations: Vigilance, Praetor, and Zeta-Phi II.” Three planets were outlined in bright orange, giving off a distinct glow. “This information was retrieved by some of our top operatives and they have been inside the Insurrectionists’ ranks for some time now. Each planet is on the edge of UNSC space. At the current moment, we have a fleet holding position at the edge of the Zeta-Phi system, carefully monitoring for Insurrectionist activity. Your objective is to search each location and bring him back into UNSC custody. If we catch him, we should be able to cut the head off the Insurrection once and for all.

"You will also need to move quickly," Chairman Hargrove spoke. "The long you spend looking for the Director, the closer he will be to successfully outfitting the Insurrectionist with their own soldiers, further prolonging this conflict and futher needlessing wasting resources and live."

"Even still," Councilor Price butted in, "bringing down the Director will deal a direct blow to the Insurrectionists' strength. Perhaps we can finally have some semblance of peace."

The General nodded in agreement. "Any questions?” There was no reply, which came at a surprise to Tex. Usually someone came up with an incredibly stupid remark or at least a poorly-placed joke. They really had changed. “Well, in that case, since we have no ‘official’ jurisdiction over you, you may choose where to start looking.”

Everyone unanimously replied, “Yes sir,” before turning and walking out of the room.

* * *

Location: UNSC _All or Nothing_ Command Bridge, Attached to Designated UNSC Orbital Station Beta-4, Sigma Octanus IV

Shipboard Time: 1200 Hours

Date: June 19, 2557

“Where could he be?” Carolina had a contemplative look on her face as she continued to stare at the stellar chart. Around her, there was the occasional bridge crew member passing by, sticking to his or her own duties. She paid no mind to them whatsoever, focusing solely on the map before her.

“Maybe we should start here,” recommended Wash, pointing to one of the orange planets, “Zeta-Phi II.”

“No,” she sighed, “that seems too obvious, even for him. Zeta-Phi is a hotspot of activity as well as a pretty heavy Forerunner weapons cache.” The Freelancer circled around the holotable, appearing akin to a scientist trying to figure out an incredibly difficult equation.

“Well then, that only leaves two options: Vigilance and Praetor.”

She continued to stare anyway, despite the limited choices.

They stared for several long minutes, neither of them making a comment. That was until Washington had an idea. “Want my advice?” She looked up at him, a blank expression on her face. “Instead of trying to figure this out like a jigsaw puzzle, we could just eliminate the possibilities one at a time…”

“And hope we get lucky with our first choice,” she finished. Caroline bobbed her head in affirmation. Clearly she had liked the idea.

Wash nodded. “Exactly.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she replied, a bemused smirk plastered on her face. She stood up straight, taking on a more commanding stance.

“Now the only thing left to do is choose where to start,” he stated.

“Well, David, I’m leaving that all up to you,” she offered, the remark leaving the steel-and-gold Freelancer stunned, “since you were the one to come up with this ingenious plan in the first place.”

Washington stared back at her briefly before coming up with a decision. There was no way he was going to get ensnared in thought and doubt just as she had. She had given him an opportunity to make a decision. He would not waste it.

He looked into her eyes with determination. “Set course for the Praetor system.”


	11. Praetor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With information and orders given, the gang begins their search for the Director. But they will have to be careful. Who knows how far along the Director is to creating Insurrectionist supersoldiers and how dangerous his guard is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I did not mean to make this chapter take as long to post as it did.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy.

Location: Unknown

Time: Unknown

Date: Unknown

There was not much to say or know… other than the fact that it was cold and dark. Just cold, as cold as a tundra in a snowstorm, and dark, as dark as the endless void haunting the edges of the known universe. Yes, it was dark…

Except there was something off with this darkness and this frozen cold. It wasn't the same as before. It didn't feel the same as before. There was no way to describe it other than it felt… off.

He had no memory of where he was, much less who he was. He struggled to think, struggled to remember. Did he have a name? He had to have a name, didn't he? His name… it had to be someone important, like Moore, or Mike. No, that wasn't it. Maybe it was Matt? Mark? Mitch? Maybe it didn't even start with an 'M', like Jordan. No, that sounded worse than the last several. His name definitely had an 'M' in it. He just couldn't remember what it was.

Thinking about his name was too hard. Maybe if he thought about something else, the ache in his head would go away. He remembered white, black, and grey, a mass of power, of strength and speed, but he couldn't place any meaning behind it. What was that power? The strength? Was it a person or an object?

It hurt to think. Thinking was hard, it required energy, energy he didn't have.

He heard muffled noises around him, voices, like there was a wall of some sort. He had no idea what they were saying. Not like it really mattered, he was stuck where he was. Nothing could fix that.

If only he could move, feel like he could do something, anything. Instead, it felt like a whole building was on top of him with how much he couldn't move. Maybe that was for a good reason.

It didn't really matter after all. He would just rest until something else changed. Thinking was hard and moving was impossible. Maybe he should just rest and wait…

* * *

Location: Praetor System

Time: 1600 Hours

Date: June 19, 2557

Located around the outer edge of the boundary that separated the Inner and Outer Human Colonies, the Praetor System was home to a sparse four planets, Kyron, Iris, Praetor, and Gaelon. The former two were gas giants, one bearing a thin ring very much in the same manner as Saturn in the Sol System, and the last one was located a quarter of an astronomical unit from the system's star. Only the planet Praetor itself was habitable.

The _All or Nothing_ emerged from Slipspace three hundred thousand kilometers from the planet's surface, its engines flaring hot, its sensor array scanning for targets, its weapon systems ready to go. The ship's crew were equally as prepared, manned at their battle stations and awaiting orders. The Reds and Blues had their equipment prepped and were simply waiting on orders. And Carolina, Washington, Sarge, Church, and Tex stood on the command podium, watching the planet before them.

Although Washington had only wanted Carolina on the bridge initially, being a fellow Freelancer, he decided it would be better to allow the other three to join in on the initial sighting as well, with Sarge being leader of Red team and Church and Tex declaring themselves coleaders of Blue team. When asked, Junior, Tucker, and Caboose were more than okay with this decision.

The grey-and-gold trooper eyed his fellow Freelancers. He could feel that there was still tension between Tex and Carolina. The finger in their hands seemed tempted to clench and he had no doubt they were staring at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

Off to Tex's side, Church had his head facing both him and her. Occasionally the black Freelancer's fingers would close into fists, but Church would bump his arm against hers. She relaxed every time he did, as if he was grounding her in reality.

The group stared in amicable silence at the planet before them. Compared to most terrestrial worlds, this one sported lots of greys and whites. Whether that was from the various mountain ranges, tundras, or clouds, the planet looked bleak. There were patches of greens and blues dotting the landscape, but otherwise it retained a monotone of silvery-grey.

"Well, it's not much to really look at," Church finally spoke.

"It's not supposed to," clarified Wash, not disagreeing with the Blue's assessment in the slightest.

"Looks like one of those boring whatchamacallit mosaics," remarked Sarge. "I never really understood what people thought was so fascinating about them."

"No readings of any kind coming from the planet," commented Carolina. "Are you sure the intel is correct?"

"Based on what the UNSC was able to piece together, yeah, this should be one of the possible locations," replied Washington. "Keep in mind they said _one_ of the possible locations."

"Well, in that case, let's get closer so our sensors can get a better read-". A warning klaxon interrupted her. The screen in front of them lit up with a red warning sign.

 _"Warning, MAC cannon energy signature detected_ ," spoke Sheila in her cheerfully monotone voice.

Everyone's pupils dilated. Mass Accelerator Cannon rounds were bad news for every ship larger than a transport, which the _All or Nothing_ happened to be. They were nothing more than large solid slugs of metal, for sure, but they were fired at hypersonic speeds from magnetic rails. They were capable of destroying capital ships with naught but a handful of shots. Some of the larger ones could cut through even Covenant capital ships, shields and all, in two or three shots, and those things could absorb entire volleys of Archer missiles.

Based on the size of the signature, it looked like one of the larger ones.

"Evasive maneuvers, **now**!" commanded Washington. The ship lurched very suddenly off to the side, its starboard thrusters firing at maximum power.

A streak of yellow-white light flashed right past the ship's flank. Warning klaxons continued to sound off as the energy brushed off against the _All or Nothing_ 's energy shields. Once the Human-Covenant War had ended, humanity had taken steps to even the playing field with their former enemies in the event of another war breaking out. One of these steps was the integration of energy shields to every Slipspace-worthy ships for some much-needed durability. Before them, human ships could easily be shredded by the Covenant's much more devastating plasma weaponry. Now they were much more capable of going toe-to-toe with them. The smaller ones could still be annihilated by the full force of a well-placed MAC round though.

"FILSS, find the source of that shot," the grey Freelancer ordered, attempting to steady himself as the ship continued to drift off to the side.

" _Complying_." There was a brief pause before she answered, "Target acquired." A bright red circle appeared in a seemingly insignificant spec on the planet's surface. One of the ship's cameras magnified and zoomed in on the spec.

Instead of a spec, as they had initially assumed, there was a single orbital defense station floating around Praetor. It was similar in size and scope to the ones seen around Earth, with a gunmetal grey aesthetic and the boxy layout of typical human engineering. It was located roughly one hundred and twenty-five point five kilometers from the planet's surface.

"Wait," Tex called out before Washington could give the order to fire. "Wash, we still don't know anything about this planet."

"Go on," he motioned for her to continue.

Instead it was Church who answered. "We should try to board the station instead. No doubt they'll have intel on the planet below. And something is better than nothing."

Washington looked out at the display, no doubt contemplating the risk of losing the ship versus the reward of making searching the planet easier. Finally, after a few tense seconds, he looked back at the assembled soldiers. "Sarge, Church, Tex, get your teams ready. Carolina, go with them, give them backup."

All four of them nodded and rushed off towards the hangar.

* * *

The teams were assembled in the hangar, armed and ready for the drop two minutes after the first MAC round fired. Since then, four other rounds were fired, if the sudden swerving was any indication. Four-Seven-Niner was already in the pilot seat, prepping the ship for takeoff. Each simulation trooper had a jetpack mag-locked to their back.

As soon as they saw the remaining teammates were prepared, they all boarded the transport. The team consisted of Church, Tex, Caboose, Tucker, Sarge, Grif, Simmons, Donut, Lopez, and Carolina. Junior would not be joining them as they did not have a Covenant Ranger suit available for him, Doc figured he'd be better off waiting for the fighting to clear up before joining in since he was a pacifist, and Washington would take control of the ship as it continued to evade the deadly ordnance being fired its way.

The troopers strapped into their safety harnesses as the pelican lifted off. Several long minutes went by in silence as the transport ship propelled its way towards the space station. The team went through what passed for pre-battle rituals as it continued on course. Sarge counted his ammunition repeatedly while Grif sharpened the blade of his brute shot. Simmons was doing a software check on the inside of his helmet as Caboose seemed to stare off into the distance. Tucker was taking the time to stretch his limbs as much as he could, particularly his arms and wrists. Church merely went through a series of breathing exercises and watched Tex out of the corner of his eye. She was staring Carolina directly in the eyes, her body language betraying nothing. Carolina was mirroring her motions.

The dropship's interior suddenly shook. "What the hell was that?" exclaimed Tucker.

" _Station's point defense turrets are firing on us_ ," Four-Seven-Niner called out. Another rumble across the hull signaled the ship taking fire. " _I won't be able to dodge these shots for long. Get ready to jump on my mark._ "

"Wait, what does she mean 'jump'?" questioned Simmons. But no one bothered to answer his question and instead disengaged their safety harnesses.

As they made way to the back of the pelican, Carolina turned to ask, "Who knows how to use their jetpack?" Church, Tex, Sarge, and Donut raised their hands. The cyan Freelancer sighed. "Okay, quick tutorial. Your jetpack is controlled via the neural uplink to your helmet. Choose a thought or neural impulse to assign the commands to turn it on and off. Got it?"

"Got it," everyone else answered.

"Alright," she continued. "Be careful with how you use them. Overuse can damage the pack."

"Yeah, or knock your head against the ceiling," commented Church. Tucker gave him a curious look, but refrained from making a snide remark. Now wasn't the appropriate time for that.

The pelican rear door opened and the oxygen in the back compartment got sucked out into space. Things got deathly quiet for the team as their hearing went with it. They could see cannon and machinegun rounds spit past they as Four-Seven-Niner continued to dodge and strafe the turrets' targeting systems.

" _Mark_."

The pelican dropship lurched suddenly to the side, pivoting its rear compartment to the station while simultaneously decelerating. The team was thrust suddenly out of the troop bay and began accelerating the remaining three thousand meters towards the station. Some of the less prepared sim troopers, namely Grif, Simmons, and Caboose, waved their arms about wildly, trying to get their bearings. Tucker felt himself lose control for a second but regained it just as quickly. Lopez had no trouble as his programming allowed him to adapt seamlessly. The rest flew forward with ease.

They advanced on the station, determination in their eyes. As the continued forward, Church was able to look upon the station more clearly. It had a primary and two secondary hangars, at least half a dozen defensive turrets, a relay station, control tower, and command tower for those directing the MAC cannon. Seeing the number of personnel they had for the assault, he opened a channel to the teams. "Red team, redirect yourselves to the MAC command station at the base of the cannon. Blue team, on me. We're moving to that relay tower-"

" _Negative, Blue team_ ," interrupted Carolina, " _continue on station towards the control tower. Make sure they don't launch any fighters on the_ All or Nothing."

" _Belay that order, Blue team_ ," barked Tex. " _Carolina, what the hell are you doing?_ "

" _Leading this team, Agent Texas_ ," the cyan Freelancer hissed back. " _If they launch any fighters, Four-Seven-Niner will be done for alongside the_ All or Nothing."

"Worry about those fighters later, Agent Carolina," Church interjected. "Our priorities are the MAC gun and getting intel on that planet."

" _Then I'm going for the hangar controls. You can continue onto your objective._ " The line went quiet and Carolina began drifting away from the rest of the group.

"Son of a bitch," the former AI muttered under his breath. He opened a channel again. "Tucker, go after her. Make sure she doesn't get herself killed."

" _On it_." He saw Tucker move away from the corner of his eye, trailing after the other bluish-green team member.

Once they got within a thousand meters of the station, the Reds and Blues split off. Church couldn't believe Carolina had decided to split off from the group. Now Blue team was down two members, leaving only him, Tex, and Caboose to break into and access the communication tower.

When they got within five hundred meters, Church could see a pane of Plexiglas that gave a view of the comm room. He raised his sniper rifle and fired. Though Plexiglas was typically more than enough for most small firearms and even a few smaller explosives, it still couldn't hold under the intense power of 14.5×114mm armor piercing rounds, which he just so happened to have in abundance. All four rounds found their targets, going straight through the glass and killing four of the room's occupants. He reloaded his weapon as he saw Tex and Caboose capitalize on his actions, firing their Battle Rifle and Assault Rifle respectively. Their rounds didn't go through the covering, but they did increase the amount of cracks there were in the portal.

The Blues smashed through the Plexiglas with the force of their momentum and landed on their feet, built-in gravity boots sticking them to the floor. By the time the room's remaining occupants realized there were intruders, it was already too late. The air in the room immediately got sucked out into the vacuum of space, dragging them out with it. Church heard the Insurrectionists scream in terror as they were flung into the void. Two seconds later an emergency shutter closed around the breach, leaving only the Blues occupying the room.

 _That was way easier than I thought it would be_. Tex moved over to a panel and inserted a data drive into a nearby port. The drive immediately began downloading all of the system's files. Caboose stood guard, his weapon lowered but ready to aim at any potential intruders.

"Alright, we're in," the cobalt sim trooper radioed to the rest of his teammates. "What's your status, people?"

* * *

The body of the last Insurrectionist fell, multiple wounds puncturing his chestplate. Sarge pumped his shotgun to cycle the next shell into the firing chamber. The spent shell clattered against the floor.

Across the room, over two dozen enemies, soldier and crew alike, scattered across the floor and control consoles. A handful of the stations had taken heavy damage, blasted by Brute Shot grenades or badly damaged by Simmons's rockets. There were at least one or two craters where Donut had thrown his plasma grenades. None of his team had, thankfully, been hurt. They had taken fire from the enemy, but the rounds largely bounced off their energy shields.

While the _All or Nothing_ was being restocked and retrofitted for use, Agent Washington had taken the time to request armor upgrades and an upgrade station to be put onboard. One of these upgrades was an energy shield for their suits. The energy shields were a welcome addition to the simulation troopers. If there was one thing that could improve the survivability of each and every one of them, it was this singular upgrade. Before it, there had always been a distinct possibility one someone dying from a stray bullet to the head. Hell, if the records were correct, the Freelancers suffered from this same vulnerability back in the day. There were multiple instances where Freelancer Agents had died or nearly died from singular gunshot wounds, from the arms and guts to the throat and head. Now they had a semblance of durability that their normal armor couldn't provide, thus drastically increasing their survivability. And if these firefight proved anything, it was that they'd desperately need it.

Sarge heard the Blue radio in for their status. He brought a hand up to his helmet and tapped his communication device. "MAC control room secured, Church. Moving to disable the system's targeting matrix now." At that, he lowered his hand back to his weapon. "Simmons, Lopez, stop that gun from firing. By any means."

"On it, sir," responded the maroon sim trooper. He and Lopez hurried off to two nearby consoles, furiously tapping away at the keyboards to override the current automatic firing solution the cannon was enacting. Another round fired, signaling the urgency required for the given task.

"Donut, Grif, guard the exit. We don't need any of those dirtbag Innies interrupting us." The remaining squad members nodded in recognition and moved to cover near the single entrance to the room, taking cover behind some crates and aiming their weapons at the door.

" _Almost through, just about to shut the hangars clo-Shit_ ," Sarge's radio lit up, the sound of Tucker emanating in his ear.

" _Tucker_?" It was Church now. " _Tucker, what's your status, over_?"

* * *

_One Minute Earlier…_

Tucker could see Carolina ahead of him, her jetpack flaring as she boosted with increased speed toward the hangar door. She kept her body angled away from him, poised and ready to engage the enemy the second she was within effective firing range.

He could see her bright blue armor, the layers of armor covering what was ultimately a very attractive woman beneath it. He saw her taut rear pointed at him, and his mouth watered very slightly. It had been _way_ too long since he had properly laid eyes on such a fine woman. Sure, there was Tex, but she had made it very clear a long time ago that she wasn't even remotely interested in him. She only had eyes for Church as far as he was aware, and he wouldn't get between them. Church was his best friend, so he'd leave them well enough alone. Carolina was different though, still similar in many aspects to Tex, but different enough to not be the same person. They were both mean spirited, both rather abrasive, but Carolina had a sort of leadership vibe Tex never possessed, a ferocity that wanted to be released. The way she commanded Blue team just then was proof enough of that.

He shook the thought from his head. Now really wasn't the best time to be admiring a woman's body. That could always come later. He guessed some habits just died hard.

He could see that she had dual plasma rifles attached to her thighs, her hands lingering near them. He could also see that she had chosen to bring a Brute gravity hammer with her, a weapon he was uncomfortably familiar with. It was the only real weapon that could overrule the finesse of the energy sword in melee, its power able to crush heavy armor, whether it was a Spartan's or a tank's. It would pulverize humans like they were nothing.

He focused on their projected flight path, taking in the view of the hangar roughly three hundred meters ahead of them. There were a number of figures arrayed before them, many of them moving about in scattered groups, no doubt attempting to scramble the Broadswords loaded within the hangar. It looked almost like none of them were prepared for their new arrivals. A shame for them.

Tucker activated his energy sword, poised for the incoming fight.

They flew in like a pair of bright blue comets, smashing into the unfortunate crew members that were unaware of their presence. Carolina slammed into two of them, spinning as she brought her gravity hammer around and spun before hitting a large crate, sending it flying towards another group of Insurrectionists in the back. The crate smashed them to a fine red paste. Meanwhile, Tucker landed with a little more finesse, choosing instead to fly past three of them, lobbing their heads off in passing, before cutting through the wing of one of the Broadswords. He flipped over and double kicked another hapless soldier in front of him, sending him flying.

Once his momentum was spent, he landed gracefully on his feet and pulled his DMR from off his back. He lined the reticle of his marksman scope up at the nearest head he could line up and pulled the trigger. The head jerked back, a spray of blood coming out the same direction.

The Blue popped off a handful of other shots before ducking behind a forklift. And not a moment too soon, for he heard multiple shots ping off the metal around him. He peeked his head out to try and get a bead on Carolina.

She wasn't hard to find. In the time it took him to kill those soldiers and get behind cover, she'd soared across the room, smashing down upon clusters of enemies with her hammer and blasting those out of immediate reach with her plasma rifles, leaving smoking holes riddled across their bodies. He saw multiple crates and loading mechanisms scattered about and in various states of disrepair, either bearing scorch marks from the superheated projectile weapons or being dented or otherwise caved in from the brutal melee weapon.

The Freelancer was currently having at it against another dozen or so Innies, spraying them with her dual weapons and catching at least three of them with her hail of firepower while forcing the rest of them to duck down. Almost seamlessly, she holstered the guns and brandished the hammer once more, twisting her body for whilst boosting with the jetpack for additional momentum before smashing the head down upon the remaining squad. They went flying from the resulting shockwave.

She looked graceful, even in the face of combat, if Tucker was being honest with himself. He'd seen many different kinds of fighting styles before, from lightweight martial arts to heavyweight brawling and boxing. He'd seen human musclemen and Elite swordmasters at work, each with a very distinct and unique style of fighting. But he'd never seen someone fight quite like Agent Carolina. She was lithe, she was swift, she was flexible; she was cunning, brutal, and lethal. He'd seen all of those traits before. There was one thing that made her a standout though: she was graceful. Somehow in a way that even the swordsmen and martial artists of the Sangheili weren't, she was graceful. Sure, it wasn't the most artistic or pristine combat he'd ever seen, but the gracefulness in which she approached the fight made her unique. It was smooth and it flowed, even if there was a directness and a brutality to it.

More shots pinged off the forklift next to him, bringing him out of his stupor. He looked around for the source and found three enemies behind a makeshift barricade, one of them on a turret.

He brought his marksman rifle around and fired three times. The shots each found their marks and the soldiers fell, quarter-size holes in their heads. Normally, he would've ducked back to cover as soon as possible, but he had faith that his shield would hold long enough for him to kill them. And they did, if only just, for his shields popped the second the last enemy died.

Tucker ducked back down to reload, making a mental note that even energy shields were easily shredded under heavy machinegun fire.

With one last thunderous boom, the hangar fell silent. Carolina made a three-point landing, her right fist connecting with the ground while a handful of explosive go off behind her, killing the remaining defenders. He suspects she threw grenades at them in the midst of finishing a brawl against another group.

The Freelancer looked up and returned to a more natural stance. "Let's get those doors closed."

Tucker simply nodded and moved to a nearby control panel. He scanned the device for anything that could accomplish such a task. He wasn't really a tech expert, not by a longshot, especially in comparison to Simmons or Sarge. Even Caboose was surprisingly capable with technology. He barely knew how some of the parts of his armor worked at the best of times even after all the years he had it.

As he was scrolling through the option, he saw her taking up a defensive stance, no doubt wary of any potential hostile reinforcements. The glow of the interior lights reflected off of her armor, giving it a rather moonlight look. It looked good on her.

She noticed he was looking at her and he turned away, trying to focus on the task at hand. He continued looking at the buttons and options before him. " _Alright, we're in_ ," his radio lit up, Church's voice echoing in his ears. " _What's your status, people?_ "

" _MAC control room secured, Church_ ," replied Sarge. _"Moving to disable the system's targeting matrix now."_

Tucker raised his hand to the sensor-activated earpiece where his ear would be on his helmet. "Almost through. Just about to shut the hangars clo-". Suddenly, a shot whizzed over his head and he reflexively ducked behind the console. "Shit!" he exclaimed.

" _Tucker_ ," Church asked, a hint of worry in his voice. " _Tucker, what's your status, over_?"

"Hostiles are attempting to stop us." He briefly peaked up and fired a small burst of shots at the new squad making their way into the hangar. Even Carolina ducked at the shots being fired at her.

Several seconds of sustained fire hit the console and surrounding machinery. He heard the pings of metal as they struck near his head. He flinched down a bit more.

He waited for the fire to briefly subside before quickly standing up and firing his gun. Carolina fell in sync and unleashed her own fire. The lack of cover proved to be the Insurrectionist's undoing and they fell like the last several squads.

Tucker raised his hand to the radio again. "As I was saying, about to shut the hangars closed now." The second he went back to his previous task, he heard a deep rumble. The Blue looked up and saw a handful of fighters shoot out of the three hangars around the station. Noticing that that was most likely only the first squadron to launch, he redoubled his efforts in finding the option to force the hangar shutters closed. No doubt the first squadron was already on its way to the _All or Nothing_.

"Move," he heard Agent Carolina say from behind him. He felt a hand on his shoulder before being forcefully pushed to the side. Before he had time to protest, she pressed a button and a massive steel shutter closed behind him. He heard a series of other loud metallic bangs, presumably the other shutters closing around them.

The female Freelancer looked back up at him and merely shook her head in disapproval. Tucker sighed under his helmet before contacting Church once more. "Hangars closed. We'll hold this position until we can find a more permanent solution."

" _Roger that,_ " Church affirmed. Without warning, a bright red alarm began to blare, engulfing the entire bay in a crimson hue. " _Damn it. Red team, what's your status?_ "

" _Well, good news is the MAC gun's no longer firing_ ," responded Sarge. _"The bad news is that-_ "

" _Simmons tripped the self-destruct sequence in the process_ ," Grif finished. He could hear Simmons complaining about how it wasn't his fault in the background. " _And the self-destruct sequence consists of a Havok nuke._ "

A blood-curdling chill fell over Tucker's body, rendering him speechless. He was no expert on the specific weapons of war humanity employed throughout the Human-Covenant War, but he knew well enough what that meant. He knew damn-well enough to know that any sort of weapon with the word 'nuke' in it was very, _very_ bad news for everyone involved. It often sounded a death knell for all those within its blast radius, which they certainly were in. Based on the lack of noise on the channel, he was guessing everyone had arrived at the same conclusion as him: they were all going to die.

"Fuck!" exclaimed each and every member of the team in unison. The channel was overcome by panicked garble as the teams started to lose control of the situation, fear setting in their voices. He couldn't blame them; he was having the same thought process. Here they were, on their way towards finding the man responsible for this whole mess they found themselves in so many years ago, making their first real step of progress, and they were already about to meet death. They hadn't even come _close_ to finding him, to stopping the shitstorm that had brought them all together in the first place. They wouldn't have a life to look forward to, a life to experience, to live. This was the end.

" _Everyone, shut up!_ " The group fell silent, the bark of Tex overcoming their panic and fear. Taking command of the situation, the black-armor Freelancer continued, " _Simmons, how much time is left before the bomb goes off?_ "

Simmons sounded like he was taking a moment to compose himself before responding, " _Four minutes_."

* * *

Tex gave Church a glance as he attempted to come up with a plan for them to avoid utter destruction. She trusted him to do that much. In all honesty, there was very little he trusted her to do these days. Where once she didn't trust him to do anything of value other than provide information, now she felt she could almost trust him with her life. That was partly what love was, according to several therapeutic articles she had read a while back while trying to find a way to mend what was largely a broken relationship between her and Leonard. She hadn't thought much about it at the time, but now it seemed to show through. She trust him to do the right thing, to make the right decision.

"If we try making our way to the _All or Nothing_ , we'll never escape the blast radius, even if Four-Seven-Niner picked us up. Trying to disarm it would take too long and it would be too risky. However," she heard him hesitate, "knowing what I know about this planet's gravitational pull and the benefits of the new energy shields we've acquired, we're down to one option."

"And what's that?" she inquired, trying to get him to keep going.

"We jump out the nearest airlock and allow the planet's gravity to pull us away from the station before the nuke detonates."

Another moment of stunned silence followed. What Church suggested had to be the most insane plan any of them had ever had. None of them had that kind of experience before save perhaps Sarge, but even he had been protected by a drop pod. And he always claimed he was never comfortable with jumps even with them.

" _It'll work_ ," Simmons called over the radio.

" _Are you serious?_ " That was Tucker calling out in exasperation.

" _Positive_ ," the geeky Red continued. " _Based on what we know, that the gravity of Praetor is the same as that of Earth, the acceleration caused by us falling will allow us to escape the HAVOK nuke's blast radius. If the Innies have the nuke set to maximum yield, that'll put the blast at a range of one hundred kilometers. And if we let gravity pull us when we jump, we should be able to clear the blast zone in a little over one hundred and forty seconds_."

" _Exactamente ciento cuarenta y dos punto ocho segundos_ [ _Exactly one hundred and forty-two-point eight seconds_ ]," replied Lopez. As usual, he continued to speak in Spanish.

"Barely under two-and-a-half minutes," Church clarified. "It's risky, but it's the only option we've got.

" _Well I hate to bust your bubble_ ," interrupted Sarge, " _but if what you say is true, we have a little under a minute to jump then_."

With that, the line went dead, each team scrambling to find a way off the station. For Carolina and Tucker, it was pretty easy, needing only to open the hangar shutters before simply falling through the energy field keeping the air from escaping the ship. They did so at the three minute mark.

Red team made their way over to a nearby docking port meant for capital ships. There was already a prehacked terminal, the same one they used to initially get into the facility. It took naught but two button presses from Lopez to open it again, this time to go the opposite way they came. When the team opened the door and rushed out the airlock, the clock struck at two minutes and fifty-five seconds.

Getting out would be the hardest for Blue team as their way in was blocked by an emergency shutter. Instead, they had to resort to going one of many sets of escape pods lined around the facility. From there, Church forced the pods to launch and they opened the now empty tubes with a series of explosives. Once the door shattered, the air in the room got sucked out. They disengaged their magnetic boots and allowed the strong gust of oxygen to suck them out. They left at the two minutes and forty-two second mark.

As they began falling towards the planet, Church could see the faint outlines of the other team: a mass of red and reddish dots three hundred meters to his right and a pair of bright blue dots roughly five hundred meters below. Above him, Praetor glistened in the sunlight like a disco ball.

He felt the gravity of the planet begin to tug at him and he accelerated away from the station, aiming his body towards it like a spear. Barely fifteen seconds had passed when he looked back up and noticed just how small the station already was.

They continued falling for an additional fifteen seconds when their radios flared to life. " _Anyone call for a ride?_ " Off to the side, the unmistakable shape of Four-Seven-Niner's dropship came into view, its engines burning at maximum throttle as it attempted to catch up with the freefalling soldiers.

The pelican came close enough for him to actually see the details of the ship itself, the rectangular engines, the bulbous cockpit, the steel paintjob. He could even make out the nose gun with how fast it was approaching.

He saw the ship drift towards Red team first, its bay door opening and allowing them access. They took the chance gleefully and gradually drifted inside. The going felt painfully slow as they disappeared into the ship little by little, until only Simmons and Donut were left.

And that's when he saw them. They looked like just pieces of debris, maybe even some satellites, but it was hard to tell. They were obscured by the mass of the Pelican. However, upon further, they weren't debris or satellites or anything of that nature. A realization dawned on Church. Those were the Broadswords that had launched earlier.

"Four-Seven-Niner, you have hostile fighters at your four o'clock! Evade, I say again, evade!" The flashes of autocannon fire quickly followed his warning, and the pelican jerked abruptly to the side, the rounds barely missing its hull.

Now that the pelican had moved out of the way, he got a chance to see what they were up against. There were four of them in total, two of them running as a tag-team based on their proximity to each other. The other two looked like they were running solo.

A rocket went zooming up at one of them and it barrel rolled, allowing the projectile to fly harmlessly past it. That was no doubt Simmons doing his best to destroy the machines. But they were flying at hundreds to thousands of miles per hour and his rocket launcher was designed for ground and slower air targets, not fast air or space ships.

One of the ships spun again as a second rocket came flying out the back of the pelican. He had to think fast, as they were at the minute-and-twenty-five-second mark before the nuke would go off and they still hadn't quite escaped the blast zone yet.

He loaded a magazine of armor-piercing rounds and tried firing at one of the fighters' cockpits. The shot pinged harmlessly off of the ship's reinforced hull, the body jerking around too much for him to get a good bead on the cockpit or engines. He had to find a way to get them still.

One of the fighters directed itself towards him and began firing the autocannons. There was no way the machine's targeting software could lock onto anything smaller than a banshee, much less a human-sized target, but that didn't stop its pilot from trying. Church boosted his jetpack and tumbled to the side, avoiding the stream of heavy firepower. It only took a shot or two for those cannons to absolutely obliterate him. And he wasn't an AI anymore, so death seemed that much more tangible and real than it ever did back at Blood Gulch. Tex and Caboose did likewise, evading like their life depended on it.

The remaining fighters continued to fire at the descending pelican. Church saw the ship tumble and roll, a rocket intermittently firing from the back. Without really thinking about it, he snapped his rifle off to one of them and pulled the trigger. The shot whizzed through the empty space and struck one of the Broadsword's engines, causing it to explode. He saw the ship wobble from the loss of control in its propulsion as it spun from another rocket being fired at it. Its pilot must've overestimated his skills, for he flew too far to the side and crashed into another of its brethren. A fiery explosion went off from the collision of the ships.

The former AI checked his suit's timer in the corner of his HUD. His eyes widened and his pupils dilated. _Detonation in 10_ …

"Everyone," he called out frantically over his radio, "get to the pelican! **NOW!** " The Blues and Freelancers made an immediate beeline towards the dropship, attempting to dodge the incoming firepower in the process. But they were almost out of time. They were so close to the edge of the blast zone, but nuclear weapons also emitted a devastating shockwave with them when detonated. That was still really, _really_ bad for them, especially for a smaller ship like the pelican.

He sped his way closer, his heart pounding in his ears as he sailed across the empty void. He was so close, yet so far. He could see Simmons, Donut, and Lopez strapped into their safety harnesses, watching the Blues approach in anticipation. He saw Sarge leaning out of the troop bay, hand outstretched toward Caboose, the closest out of all of them. Grif wasn't with them, instead most likely helping copilot the pelican alongside Four-Seven-Niner.

_5…_

Caboose grabbed the Red's hand and was hauled into the ship.

_4…_

Tex was next, her jetpack accelerating her past Sarge and into the front. She landed gracefully before turning to face him, still outside the ship.

_3…_

Church boosted himself forward, watching out of the corner of his eye as Tucker and Carolina did likewise. By the looks of it, they'd all reach the ship at the same time.

_2…_

Tex stood next to Sarge, gripping the side of the troop compartment with one hand, and reaching out to him with the other. She was so close now, he could almost touch her.

_1…_

He felt his gauntlet brush against hers, fingertips sliding against one another.

_0._

For a brief moment, there was a second star over Praetor, an incredible flash of light lighting up over a hundred kilometers above the planet's surface. It had engulfed the defense station wholesale and when it had dissipated, there was nothing left. The Reds and Blues wouldn't know or care about that at the moment.

In the same moment the nuke went off, a massive shockwave ripped across space. The pelican the simulation troopers had occupied shuddered and was knocked haphazardly off its original route. It began spinning in a way it should not.

Church was knocked away from Tex. Her eyes widened in horror as he went flying away from them, away from _her_.

" **LEONARD!** " she screamed in terror as he continued to plummet to the planet. In that moment, all thoughts of self-preservation flew right out the window. She desperately, _desperately_ wanted to jump out of the ship and fly right after him. But the shockwave threw her to the front of the troop compartment instead. Her back slammed against the wall.

At the same time, Tucker and Carolina were struck by the shockwave as well, sending themselves spiraling downward. However, they were going off in a different direction from both the Reds and Blues and Church.

Four-Seven-Niner desperately struggled against the controls, the ship's instruments blaring in alarm at the sudden surge of power and energy hitting it. Below she could see nothing but mountains and valleys, various hues of white and grey taking up the viewport. Their altitude continued to drop rapidly and she pulled hard on the joystick, attempting to decelerate them before they'd become a meteor and crash with the same impact.

Their altitude fell further and further, the number on their Heads-Up Display getting smaller and smaller.

In their comms channel, as they were seconds away from landing, Carolina shouted, "F.I.L.S.S., engage 'Armor Lockdown' now!"

Church tensed as the ground neared, waiting for the inevitable, as Sheila responded. "Complying. Engaging 'Armor Lockdown'." Everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaand cliffhanger. Man, that was quite a busy chapter, with the arrival to the first planet, the destruction of an orbital defense platform, and escaping the blast radius of a Havok nuke. Anyone who knows about Halo lore will know how dangerous those things can be. I'm really proud of how well I was able to integrate Halo lore into this fic, showing the difference between pre- and post- Human-Covenant War UNSC ships and technology.
> 
> One thing that always struck me as odd through all of Red vs Blue was how the Freelancers survived as long as they did without energy shields, because they had no shields in all of Red vs Blue. You can clearly see it whenever someone gets hit by a single shot from a rifle. Their shields don't flare up or pop, they spurt blood instead. The bubble shield doesn't could since its a piece of equipment, not a universal armor enhancement. Well, I figured now would be a good time to give the Freelancers, Reds, and Blues a much-needed upgrade. It'll up their level of durability, something they will no doubt need.
> 
> Fun fact 1: I looked up the blast radius of a Havok nuke and was given three different answers for the blast radius: 44 km, 318 km, and 100 km. I chose to use 100 km to give enough tension but not seem too ridiculous or hard to believe. I also came up with the number for how long the Reds and Blues would need by plugging that number into a gravitational acceleration calculator. Because I'm that nerdy and that much of a stickler for 'realism' in a science fiction story.
> 
> Fun fact 2: If you plug in the distance of the space station from Praetor's surface (roughly 150 km) into that same acceleration calculator, the time it would take to close that gap would be 160 seconds, the time it would take to play 'Falling Towards the Sky' by Jeff Williams. Play it to immerse yourself in the experience.


End file.
